


you should see me (in your crown)

by 136108



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Assassination Attempt(s), Crown Prince Choi San, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fantasy, General Kim Hongjoong, Knight Choi Jongho, Lord (Or Is He?) Kang Yeosang, Lord Jung Yunho, Lord Song Mingi, M/M, Political Alliances, Politics, Prince Jung Wooyoung, Royalty, Sexual Tension, Shiber is There but As a Wolf, Spymaster Park Seonghwa, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:02:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23408752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/136108/pseuds/136108
Summary: After losing an eight-year war against the Milean Empire, the rulers of the coastal kingdom of Kali find themselves in a particularly disadvantageous situation. Their ally has been slaughtered, their army has been destroyed, and their fields have been decimated. When their capital is stormed by the Milean Imperial Army, it seems as if the royal family of Kali has everything to lose and nothing to gain. But the King of Kali has some hope for a conditional and peaceful surrender—a hope that all hinges on his youngest son, Jung Wooyoung.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Kang Yeosang/Song Mingi, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 108
Kudos: 153





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> if the worldbuilding is confusing for you at all, [here](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1CdLSHR8cv914S_T8az4wKStflS-TUW4Z4fDgUmvNTFc/edit?usp=sharing) is a link with the very basics!

Wooyoung was in his rooms when it happened.

He’d been confined there for the past day and a half, pacing around in agitation as the sounds of battle drew closer outside his windows. His parents had told him it was for his “safety,” but he suspected it was just to keep him out of the way while they scrambled to find some way to save their lives. The pit in his stomach had swelled for every hour that the doomed battle had raged on, because the time was a reminder of the inevitable truth.

They had lost the war.

This sort of end was by no means unexpected. Ever since their ally, the kingdom of Sirda, had been destroyed by the Mileans, there had been no doubt in Wooyoung’s mind that Kali was next. He just hadn’t expected his parents to draw out the fighting for as long as they had. They’d somehow managed to last _a year_ —one full year of Kalians starving because they had no food, of their soldiers killing and dying, of their cities and their lands being destroyed. And for what? So that his parents could save their pride for as long as possible?

Wooyoung had been denied any input in their strategy. As the youngest, the likelihood that he would ever bear the crown was slim to none, so his parents felt very little need to give him any actual responsibility. He’d begged to be allowed to fight, to put his years of training and his abilities to use for their kingdom, and his parents had denied him even that. He was the only Kasa member of the royal family, and a Reaper at that, and still they had argued that the Mileans would target him if he engaged in battle.

He didn’t know what the point of being a Kasa even was, if not to fight, but his father was the King of Kali and he was only a prince, so he had held his tongue.

And so all he could do, as his parents drove their kingdom to inevitable ruin, as he listened to his soldiers fight and scream and _die_ outside, was pace the wooden floors of his chambers as if he was trying to bore a hole through them.

“Come sit down, Wooyoung,” came a soft voice. “You need to calm yourself.”

He whirled around to glare at his best friend, Kang Yeosang, who was perched on the edge of his bed. His temper died as soon as he opened his mouth. Yeosang, a thousand times more than Wooyoung, had every right to hate the Mileans. His fury would have been justified; Wooyoung hadn’t seen the light come back to his eyes since Sirda fell, taking his family with it.

And yet.

Yeosang seemed too spent to even muster up anger. His face was as impassive as ever, but Wooyoung knew from years of reading him that he was exhausted. He suddenly felt very silly, losing his mind while someone who had lost so much more was quietly and patiently watching him. He deflated under his gaze and plopped down unceremoniously next to him, bumping their shoulders together. The sky outside the window was blanketed with clouds; fitting, that the sun would abandon them in these last moments. He let out a sigh so loud and so deep he felt as if the breath had taken several years off of his life with it.

“I don’t want to die,” he whispered, finally voicing the thought he’d been too afraid to say aloud, for fear of speaking it into existence.

Yeosang turned towards him, his eyes widened ever-so-slightly in surprise. Wooyoung tried to avoid eye contact, feeling oddly like he was about to cry, but Yeosang gently turned his chin to look at him. With his other hand, he took one of Wooyoung’s hands into his, his fingers tightening almost to the point of pain. The expression on his face was something Wooyoung had never seen on him before; intense and almost frightening.

“You will not,” he whispered fiercely. “I will not let them.”

The look in his eyes made it impossible for Wooyoung to not believe him. He felt a surge of warmth spread slowly through his chest, and smiled through the lump in his throat.

The other courtiers were in hiding in their own respective rooms, elsewhere in the castle. The King had ordered that Wooyoung remain apart from them, in one of the towers in the Keep, out of supposed respect for his safety. He was eternally grateful for Yeosang’s adamant refusal to leave his side, despite being a lesser noble in the court. These past hours had been hell, but they would have been ten times more unbearable if he had been alone, with only his thoughts for company.

“What would I do without you, Yeosang?” he asked softly.

Yeosang’s eyes hardened, the way they always did when he called him that. “You know you shouldn’t,” he said, and let go of his chin.

Wooyoung knew the anger was not directed at him, but it still stung. “No one is here,” he said softly. “Your name is safe with me.”

He knew it must be strange for Yeosang, to go for so many years by one name and to then have to renounce it so suddenly and so completely. Though it was nothing that anyone but Wooyoung would have noticed, in the first few weeks after he came to Neades, he would flinch slightly every time someone called him Youngsoo. Yeosang had already lost a part of himself in the war; it was cruel, Wooyoung thought, that fate had made it so he had to lose another every time he woke up in the morning as Kim Youngsoo instead of Kang Yeosang.

Was it so bad, to help Yeosang become himself again, if only for a moment, and only within the privacy of each other’s company?

“You must not—” Yeosang began.

The sound of footsteps, marching up the spiraling staircase, reached their ears, and Wooyoung froze. They hadn’t even heard the Mileans break through the gates; how could Neades have been stormed already?

Yeosang leapt off the bed and whirled to face the door, his sword drawn before his feet even reached the ground. His face was grim, his attention focused on the approaching threat. He looked ready to die before letting any Milean soldiers past him.

Wooyoung was determined to keep things from getting to that point. He would keep Yeosang from sacrificing himself even if it meant he had to stop the hearts of the entire Milean army as it came through that door. It felt almost as if he could do it, too. His body was thrumming with adrenaline, enough to overpower his stress and exhaustion. He felt strong. He felt _powerful_.

He rolled his shoulders and got to his feet, his perception of time slowing and his senses sharpening as he leaned into the gift that the Goddess had given him. His strength was not in close-quarters combat; instead, he hung back, behind Yeosang. The hairs on the back of his neck were raised, and his fists were clenched, every muscle in his body primed for when the Mileans broke down the door.

The footsteps stopped, and they heard the unmistakable clink of armor.

A bead of sweat rolled down Wooyoung’s temple.

“Your Highness,” called a voice, and Wooyoung frowned, exchanging a bemused look with Yeosang, because the woman speaking had a distinctly Kalian accent. “His Majesty the King has called for your presence in the throne room.”

“If you really are here on my father’s orders, why don’t you unlock the door?” Wooyoung called.

He gave Yeosang a nod, and the other silently moved forward, readying his sword. The Mileans were known for their cruelty, not their trickery, but he wasn’t about to wager his safety on whether or not he thought an accent was convincing.

“Of course, Your Highness,” the woman called, and he heard a key turning in the lock.

The door swung inwards, revealing a woman dressed in the golden armor of the Kalian Royal Guard, four more guards standing at full attention behind her. Wooyoung was so wound up that it took no effort to reach out across the room and lock their muscles into place, effectively freezing them where they stood.

Yeosang took his cue and cautiously stepped forward, inspecting first their armor and then their faces. For a long moment, Wooyoung held his breath. Then he gave Wooyoung a look, stepping back, and sheathed his sword.

Wooyoung hesitated—just for an instant—and released his hold on the soldiers. They staggered slightly, some of them moving to clutch their chests, and he belatedly realized that he’d accidentally locked their lungs in place as well, in his haste and his panic. He felt a brief flicker of remorse, watching them struggle to suck in air. But as his parents so often reminded him, a prince should avoid admitting fault when possible, so he took a deep breath and straightened his spine.

“I hope you will understand my caution,” he said, gently but firmly. “We have found ourselves in dire circumstances as of late. I was loathe to take any chances.”

Their leader, either less effected than the others or more skilled in retaining her composure, simply bowed slightly.

“Of course, Your Highness,” she said, her voice even and her face impassive. “But if Your Highness and Lord Youngsoo would please allow us to escort you.”

The thought of leaving the safety of his rooms, of the keep, made Wooyoung’s skin crawl. But his parents had apparently decided to take their last stand in the throne room, of all places, and he was in no position to disobey a direct order. He would be damned if he allowed any of his fear to show—he was a prince, after all—so he forced his shoulders back, and raised his chin, and stepped over the threshold as confidently as if he were leaving to take a stroll through the gardens.

The lead guard turned to lead them down the stairs, her sword drawn and held in front of her with a practiced grip. The remaining guards followed suit, forming a protective ring around him as they hurried down the spiraled staircase. Etiquette forbade Yeosang from walking in front of him, though he knew he probably wished to. As it were, Yeosang drew his sword once more and fell into step next to Wooyoung.

Their steps were harried as they headed in silence down the hallways, away from the center of the castle and towards the throne room near the front of the castle. Though he understood the concern for his safety, Wooyoung could hear no sounds of fighting within the castle’s walls. In fact, Neades was deathly quiet; the hallways completely empty. There were no bustling servants, who were instead hunkered down on the underground levels; no gossiping courtiers, who were hidden in their rooms; and no castle guards, who had been dispatched to defend the gates against the Mileans. Even their footsteps were muffled against the velvet carpets, so that all Wooyoung could hear were his own breaths.

With their hurried pace, it was only a few minutes before they arrived at one of the side entrances to the throne room, situated between two of the gold statues lining the sides of the hall. As he stepped between them, flanked by the guards, Wooyoung idly wondered if the Mileans would seize these statues and melt them down when they take the palace. The statues were of the past Kings and Queens of Kali, made from solid gold by Kasa hands, but he doubted the Milean barbarians would care.

“Wooyoung,” his father called, from his position on the central—and largest—throne. He waved a ring-encrusted hand, beckoning him to take a seat, and nodded to the Royal Guard, who bowed and retreated to stand along the sidelines.

The courtiers were assembled to either side of the dais, their faces pale and drawn. Yeosang sheathed his sword, giving Wooyoung one last look, and strode forward to take his place next to one of the King’s advisors and Wooyoung’s old tutor, a stern but kind man named Park Seonghwa. Wooyoung met Seonghwa’s gaze briefly, and the man granted him a warm, if rueful, smile.

Wooyoung started up the velvet walkway leading to the dais.

His parents and Woohyun were already seated elegantly on their respective thrones, looking for all the world as if they were about to mercifully accept the surrender of another, rather than being forced to do so themselves.

Wooyoung resisted the urge to glance down at himself. He was keenly aware that his attire was far from suitable for the occasion. The embroidered silk of his suit and the delicate jewelry at his throat and wrists were many times finer than that of any of the courtiers, but still paled in comparison to the full royal regalia of his parents and his elder brother, who were wearing not only formal attire but the royal jewels.

A servant stepped forward to offer him his crown; under the watchful eye of his father, Wooyoung bent his head to accept its familiar weight. He didn’t quite see the point in putting it on just to allow the Mileans the pleasure of ripping it off, but he also wasn’t the King, and the royal family could show no signs of insubordination—of weakness—in front of the court.

When he reached the base of the stairs leading up to the dais, he dipped into the customary bow.

“Good afternoon, father,” he said, expression and tone schooled into careful deference. “How far out is the battle?”

His father’s face, already resigned, grew grim, and Wooyoung’s heart sank.

“We sent for you as soon as the gates were breached,” he replied. “Our last battalion is still standing, but they should reach us within minutes.”

Wooyoung struggled to keep his face blank. Neades, as Kali’s capital and the residence of the royal family, had been under heavy protection from the Kalian army; as far as he knew, over two thousand soldiers had been amassed to protect the gates. He could only imagine the destruction that had been wrought to countless soldiers, and likely to many civilians outside the castle walls.

He bowed his head in acknowledgement, his chest suddenly tight, and whispered a wordless prayer to the Goddess to bring their lost souls peace.

“You will be receiving them, then,” he stated, and studied his father’s response carefully.

He didn’t need to finish his sentence in order to get his point across. There was no point in publicly dredging up the tragedy of the Sirdan royal family, but they had little reason to expect different treatment from the Mileans once they breached the throne room. His father clearly hoped to negotiate, but if the Milean generals had no desire to do so, then they would have dressed themselves up and gathered themselves in the throne room just to be slaughtered.

His unspoken question seemed to age the King a few years, but though he nodded resignedly, there was a glimmer of something in his eye that told Wooyoung his father thought he had some sort of leverage. But at this point, with their army on the verge of destruction, he had no idea what Kali could offer that Milea couldn’t just take anyways.

“We have ears in some of the Milean camps,” his father answered resolutely, “and we have reason to believe that we could walk out of this room with our lives after this is over.”

 _What reason_ , Wooyoung wanted to ask, but instead he nodded his head in acceptance and made his way over to his throne, which was next to his mother’s and the furthest away from the King’s. He did his best to retain the light elegance that had been trained into his movements in his youth, but as he took a seat, he could not help but grip his armrests so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

It took every ounce of his childhood training to keep his movements elegant and light, when every ounce of his body wanted to tense and to flee. Once he was settled into his seat, spine straight—good posture was important for a member of the royal family—the dreadful waiting game began.

The throne room was completely silent, everyone’s eyes trained in agonizing anticipation on the massive wooden doors at the far end of the hall. Wooyoung had no doubt that the doors would prove little difficulty if the Milean army had any Kasa with them, but their presence would at least give them advance notice that the Mileans had arrived. His eyes traveled all the way up the doors, to the lofted ceiling of the hall. He knew it had taken skilled Kasa Greenskeepers to weave the wood of so many trees together into two seamless doors, and he was curious to see how many of the Milean Army’s Kasa it would take to break apart something so massive.

In the distance, two swords clashed, breaking the silence, and Wooyoung almost jumped. The fighting had reached the castle’s interior, then.

Only moments now.

Seconds later, the sound of metal clanging against itself rang through the throne room from beyond the doors. A man cried out in agony, and then another.

Beyond it all, low and terrible, came the drumming footsteps of a marching army. The sound began so quietly Wooyoung had to strain his ears to hear it, but it slowly began to crescendo, growing louder and louder as the Milean barbarians approached.

Wooyoung took a shaky breath, careful to keep it quiet enough that no one would hear.

A deafening boom sounded throughout the hall, and the very walls of the room shook.

Wooyoung’s grip on the armrests of his throne tightened until his knuckles blanched white and the gold engravings under his hands cut into his palms.

The Mileans were just beyond the door. The force of the first blow hadn’t cracked either of the doors, but its impact had reverberated through the floor and up through Wooyoung’s throne. It was impossible to get that kind of strength from a battering ram.

It had to be Kasa. But he wasn’t sure which kind.

A second boom rang out, and Wooyoung felt the blow in his fucking _teeth_. The doors still held, but dust rained down around the edges of the room. He could see frost gathering at the doors’ hinges, and realized with a jolt that the Mileans must be using ice to break down the doors. Physicali, the Kasa who could control inanimate things in the world around them, tended to have specific geographic distributions. Blazers thrived off of the heat and fire that they controlled, and were exceedingly common in Kali, while Seashapers tended to be found surrounded by the icy seas up north. So he’d never actually seen Kasa manipulate ice before, and found his eyes glued to the white spirals spreading from the entrance.

It would have been beautiful, if it hadn’t been heralding his likely death.

The sound of the third blow was masked by a deafening _crack_ that made Wooyoung jump slightly in his seat, eyes wide. He’d known using Kasa would expedite the process, but that still hadn’t prepared him to watch the massive wooden doors splinter from their hinges, crumpling to the ground, from a mere three blows. For the second time that day, time seemed to slow, as he watched the pieces of the only thing standing between him and the Milean Empire fall to the ground.

He didn’t even hear the pieces of the doors hit the ground; his ears were ringing too loudly for him to hear anything else.

With the doors out of the way, Wooyoung could barely make out figures, shrouded behind a lingering veil of dust, in the distance. He counted four at the immediate front—likely the Seashapers who had done the work of bludgeoning the doors—with the blurry masses of more soldiers in the distance.

For a moment, though, nothing moved, and they stood facing each other in silence. The Milean soldiers made no move to rush forward into the throne room, and simply stood there. They were waiting for something, but for what?

Wooyoung didn’t dare to turn his head, but he snuck a glance at his mother, who was immediately to his right, out of the corner of his eye. She was staring steadfastly ahead, and the only sign of her agitation was the way her thumbnail was carving a crescent into the side of her pointer finger.

Another moment passed, where no one moved.

The faint sound of a horse, drawing nearer, sounded in the distance.

Like a switch had been flipped, the Milean soldiers shifted, parting to clear a path to the throne room. The dust was starting to settle, enough so that Wooyoung could see the soldiers more clearly. He’d never seen Milean soldiers before, but they looked like harbingers of death, with their armor the same pitch-black shade as their hair and the bloodless white tone of their skin.

A single, black horse appeared from the dust left behind in the entrance.

Atop its back, a single rider, his hair the color of blood.

Wooyoung’s heart flipped, and his lips moved without his brain commanding them to, mouthing the only name he knew of that could be before him.

Kim Hongjoong was infamous in Kali. Wooyoung had heard countless stories during his childhood, growing up in the midst of the war, of the General of the Milean Army. It was said that he’d been born with the same dark hair as all of the other Mileans, but that the Goddess had punished him for his cruelty by branding him with hair the color of the very blood that stained his hands. He had been the one to defeat Sirda.

He had been the one to order the massacre that followed.

Wooyoung didn’t dare look at Yeosang, but he prayed to the Goddess to give him the strength to maintain his composure. If Yeosang let his anger control him, he would be struck down without warning, he was sure of it.

Hongjoong rode in silence, his posture perfect and his eyes fixed unblinkingly on the King. As soon as his horse had picked its way over the remains of the wooden doors, the Mileans behind him slowly filed into the throne room—first the four Kasa, and then the soldiers behind them. They left some distance between themselves and their General, but pressed onwards further into the room as he did, a silent but looming threat.

Hongjoong pulled up on his reins at the base of the dais. His gaze sent shivers down Wooyoung’s spine, despite his advantage of elevation.

“Jung Seongwon, King of Kali,” he called, in a voice that rings throughout the throne room. “Your allies in Sirda are dead. Your soldiers are dead or imprisoned. Your capital has fallen, and your castle has been breached.”

Each statement drove an iron-hot poker an inch deeper into Wooyoung’s chest. His hands felt like claws, clutching painfully at his throne.

He had never heard his father addressed so disrespectfully.

“Emperor Choi is reasonable,” Hongjoong said. “We offered the Sirdan King mercy, and we extend the same offer to you. He refused, and he and his family were accordingly executed. Now the choice is yours. Do you surrender?”

Wooyoung could not help but look desperately over to his father at those words. He had heard nothing of Sirda being offered the choice to surrender—could not say for sure whether or not Hongjoong was lying—but surely it meant something that they were being offered the choice.

His father narrowed his eyes at Hongjoong, tilting his chin slightly. His expression betrayed not a trace of fear.

“Kali offers a conditional surrender,” he declared.

Wooyoung’s eyes bugged out slightly, and he sneakily tried to look over towards his brother. Woohyun seemed completely unfazed, which meant that he knew whatever reason the King had to possess such confidence in the face of the Empire. The courtiers, however, seemed less assured, and had erupted into hushed, anxious whispering at the King’s words.

He understood their fear. He desperately wanted to trust his father and brother, but from his understanding of the situation, Kali had next to no leverage against the Milean Empire. It was presumptuous to even ask for negotiations when Hongjoong had been asking for an unconditional surrender. And it was dangerous to do so, in Wooyoung’s opinion, not just for the royal family but for the courtiers, soldiers, and civilians who would suffer if the Mileans were angered.

“And what leverage does the kingdom of Kali have in this situation?” Hongjoong asked, voicing Wooyoung’s exact concern.

“While Sirda was part of the Empire at the time of the Uprising, Kali has always been its own independent and sovereign state outside of the Empire’s control,” his father pointed out. “In Sirda, you have to resume control; in Kali, you would have to create it from the ground up. Our people have a long and proud history of fighting to retain our independence. This war has been long and costly for the Empire as much as it has been for us, and it would be tedious for the Emperor to put down the rebellions of every last subject—”

Here, he paused, leveling Hongjoong with a pointed look.

“—and every last _Kasa,_ within our borders.”

At those words, Hongjoong’s eyes flicked over, and he was staring right at Wooyoung, and Wooyoung had never seen a gaze as piercing and terrifying, the weight of it pinning him in place so that he couldn’t have moved even if he’d wanted to—

“Of course, if the Emperor satisfies certain conditions for our surrender,” his father continued, and Hongjoong’s eyes snapped back to him. Wooyoung used every ounce of his self-control to not wilt on the spot. “The royal family is willing to publicly support the surrender and to lend services to maintain peace in the Empire’s favor.”

Wooyoung was going to bore holes in the armrests of his throne at this point. Hongjoong arched a brow, staring at his father in haughty silence, his face somehow skeptical and indifferent all at once. The silence between them likely lasted only moments, but for Wooyoung, who was holding his breath from the awful suspense, it felt like years.

Finally, Hongjoong dipped his head in acknowledgement, eyes glittering with something Wooyoung couldn’t place. “Why don’t we escort you to somewhere more comfortable to hear about your…conditions?” he asked.

He moved so suddenly to commencing negotiations that it gave Wooyoung whiplash, and he struggled to process the sudden change in direction, even as his father agreed smoothly, offering up a nearby room for the negotiations.

The Milean soldiers filed in further, and Wooyoung’s father stood, folding his hands together graciously in front of him as if he weren’t desperately trying to negotiate for their lives. Wooyoung had no idea how he could act so effortlessly calm in a situation as dire as theirs. Still, he did his best to act unbothered, and remembered etiquette well enough to wait for his brother to rise to his feet before doing so himself.

A blur of movement caught his eye, and he turned his attention forward once more to see one of the Milean Kasa heading straight towards him, a fierce expression on his face. Wooyoung didn’t flinch—he was a prince, after all—but his eyes darted frantically towards his father.

Hongjoong noticed, and he told the King, “Your Kasa prince will be kept under watch by one of mine. A Suppressor.”

The Kasa stopped wordlessly a few feet away from him, hands folded behind his back.

Wooyoung cringed back away from him, even though he tried to hide it. It was only in his nature to react that way; all Kasa despised the Operaterni, whose gift lay solely in helping to control and to exploit their own kind. Enhancers and Suppressors alike, as rare as they were, always ended up serving as the guard dog for those who feared and hated people like Wooyoung. Enhancers were nothing to joke about, but Suppressors were the absolute worst. They gave him an instant headache, and made him feel like he’d been made a stranger to his own body, like he had been reduced to something _less._ As if one of his senses had been snatched away from him, and he had to struggle to remember what it had felt like to have it in the first place.

Suppressors were always used to keep Kasa helpless. Nothing good came from them.

As soon as he was in range, Wooyoung felt it, like a blanket draping over him and numbing his senses. He resisted the urge to shiver, or to wrap his arms around himself protectively.

Hongjoong’s eyes slid over to him.

“Of course,” he drawled, baring his teeth in a savage grin, “I’m sure he wouldn’t dare try anything, anyways.”

Wooyoung imagined ripping every one of Hongjoong’s teeth out of his smug mouth.

“No, of course not,” he said sweetly, and flashed his prettiest smile.


	2. Chapter Two

It was humiliating to be paraded through his own castle like some sort of prisoner, with Hongjoong and the Milean army at his back. But the Jungs had always prided themselves on being able to save face, even in dire situations such as this one. So he put back his shoulders and held his head high, pretending that it didn’t bother him to have a Kasa at his side keeping him in check like some sort of fucking dog.

Pretending that he wasn’t imagining tearing the barbarians limb from limb.

The room that his father had offered for the negotiations was one he used often for meetings of his closest advisors. It had high ceilings, and spacious windows, and much of the floor space was taken up by a behemoth of a polished, oaken table. It was around this table that they gathered; Hongjoong and a few soldiers settling in on one side without preamble, and the rest of them assembling on the opposite side.

It was typical for Wooyoung to be seated a fair way away from the King, as several of the King’s advisors had much more important roles to play than he did. So it startled him when Woohyun’s hand shot out and tugged him into place in what was usually Seonghwa’s seat. He did his best to hide it, and lowered himself into the chair smoothly, but racked his brain for an explanation. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Seonghwa file into the room along with the rest of the low-level courtiers, Yeosang by his side, and forgo a seat at the table entirely.

Seonghwa was his father’s closest advisor, and had served as their strategist for the bulk of the war.

What were they playing at?

“I’ve sent men for ink and paper,” Hongjoong said, waving his hand. “So tell me your conditions, and I will tell you ours.”

Wooyoung’s father was the perfect image of poise in his seat, every inch a king. “Kali has been an independent state since its founding,” he began. “We ask to retain our full sovereignty and our leadership. Furthermore, one of our main reasons for allying with Sirda was for access to their wheat fields. When the Emperor chose to burn these fields to the ground, he cut off our most reliable source of food. In order to avoid a famine, we ask for access to sources of grain from within the Empire’s borders.”

His demands were ridiculous—but the first few stages of negotiations always involved the most extreme of positions, which could then be whittled down to something more agreeable between the two parties.

Still, Wooyoung had never quite heard of negotiations as one-sided as these.

His father’s courage appeared to impress even Hongjoong, who gave the barest hint of a smile. He leaned forward in his seat, steepling his fingers together.

It was his turn.

“Kali will have to accept territory status within the Empire, and will be required to send delegates to serve in the court in Bravem,” he said, “though you may be able to enjoy more freedom than your counterparts. The Emperor wishes to dispel the entirety of your armed forces, and to require registration of all Kasa so that those deemed necessary can lend their service towards the rebuilding of the damage Kali caused in the war. Kali will have to pay reparations, which will also aid in rebuilding efforts. He also demands unmitigated access to your ports along the southeastern coast, and extraterritoriality of Milean subjects travelling within Kali.”

Wooyoung sucked in a breath, taking care to be quiet enough to remain unnoticed. Hongjoong had clearly responded to the boldness of his father’s claims with even more extreme demands, such that Kali would remain disadvantaged no matter how much of the initial conditions they managed to gain ground on. He still wasn’t sure what leverage his father was working with, and how much give they’d even be able to sway out of Hongjoong.

He couldn’t say that he hadn’t expected the challenges to Kali’s independence, but the demands related to their army and their Kasa were particularly heavy blows. Kali couldn’t just leave themselves undefended, and he strongly suspected that what Hongjoong was described with the Kasa would amount to little more than slavery.

“And what of your wheat fields?” Woohyun cut in, failing to comment on the extremity of Milea’s starting position.

Wooyoung realized that he was aiming to figure out the entirety of the war settlement right then and there, and settled in, shoulders tense, for a wait.

* * *

It took hours for his father, brother, and Hongjoong to work their way towards some kind of agreement.

By the end of it all, Kali had managed to maintain some degree of autonomy by adopting the status of an unincorporated territory—they were technically within the Milean Empire, but were permitted almost complete self-governance and their own Constitution, a privilege that no other region within Milea had. They were still being forced to concede military authority to the Emperor, and still had to send delegates to Milea’s court in their capital of Bravem, but his father would stay in power, and Woohyun after him.

It was more than Wooyoung had expected, in that he and his family were being allowed to keep their lives.

His brother had admittedly made a convincing case about the stubbornness and rebelliousness of Kalian people—which was by no means a stretch of the truth. Royal approval of these political changes in the immediate postwar period would certainly smooth things over and avoid Milea having to use costly measures to suppress insurrection in a region far away from the heart of their power.

But Kali had definitely lost much in the negotiations. His father had been unable to avoid the reduction of their army to one half of its previous size; a major blow, despite Hongjoong promising that the Imperial Army would compensate for the difference in numbers. And he had failed to negotiate away from the registration and drafting of Kasa for their labor, though he had convinced Hongjoong to cap the number of years they could be required to work for to eight and had convinced him to leave at minimum one half of the original Kasa population within Kali’s borders.

The rest of the conditions mostly had to do with access to resources, and had been easy to hash out—Milea would be given access to coastal ports in southern Kali, while Kali would be given access to Milean wheat fields north of Sirda.

All in all, though Kali had taken several hefty blows, they had emerged from the negotiations with a degree of sovereignty and independence that Wooyoung hadn’t even dared to dream of.

But there was one final issue that neither his father nor Hongjoong were budging on.

“Your army destroyed dozens of cities throughout Milea,” Hongjoong argued, his eyes narrowed. “They killed countless civilians—”

“—though at least _we_ can say we did so unintentionally—” Woohyun cut in bitterly.

“—and your Kasa caused unbelievable damage to our infrastructure throughout our southern region,” Hongjoong continued, speaking over him. “Milea _will not_ sign this treaty unless you agree to reparations.”

There were a thousand reasons why he could and would not do so, but Wooyoung wished to the Goddess that he could smack his father around the head.

It was ridiculous for his father to jeopardize everything they had been able to retain to try to keep his dignity intact. They had just fought an eight-year war only to lose.

Dignity had no part in this.

“We will not pay reparations,” the King stated, a twinge of irritation in his voice. “The day that the Emperor pays reparations to both Sirda and to Kali will be the day that we will do so.”

Hongjoong scoffed, and if Wooyoung got any tenser all of his muscles were going to snap. They’d been at this for hours, and tempers were rising.

“If I may,” began the Queen, and Wooyoung dug his nails into his palms under the table to refrain from looking over at her in surprise. She’d been silent this entire time. “I believe I might have a solution.”

A moment passed, where Hongjoong looked at her appraisingly with his terrifying eyes. Then he nodded, gesturing for her to speak.

“Anti-Milean sentiment runs high in Kali at the moment,” she continued, “particularly considering recent events in Sirda. Our demands throughout this negotiation have aimed at ensuring a smooth transition for the future, because of this fact. There is another way to try to improve public opinion in Kali, while providing the funds that you wish for.”

It was rare for his mother to speak in political situations, and especially negotiations. That wasn’t to say that she didn’t wield a great deal of political power—perhaps more than even Woohyun, at times—but much of her power came through the king rather than through herself. Though Wooyoung wasn’t surprised that, this time, she’d stayed silent for hours, only to put forward some full-fledged proposal once she finally spoke.

“A symbol of a political alliance between Kali and Milea, a long-lasting image of unity, would do much to ease the following months and years for the Emperor,” she said. “It would go a long way towards quelling any rebellions, or discontent within the populace.”

Wooyoung blinked.

She wasn’t suggesting what he thought she was—?

Hongjoong quirked an eyebrow, reaching the conclusion at the same time as Wooyoung. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.

“The Chois have but one heir,” he drawled. “Why would they marry him off to some Kali prince?”

The blood drained from Wooyoung’s face, and if he hadn’t been gripping the edges of his chair so tightly, he was convinced he wouldn’t fallen out of it entirely.

Marriage.

Hongjoong was looking at Woohyun, but Wooyoung knew what his mother was about to say before she even opened her mouth.

“Wooyoung is the same age as your Crown Prince,” she pointed out, and Hongjoong’s eyes snapped over to land on him. Wooyoung held his gaze as evenly as he could, ignoring the way his blood was running ice-cold in his veins, and suppressed the urge to shiver. “He is quite beautiful, and has an excellent temperament. We have given him the best upbringing possible to ensure his marriageability. He has been instructed in singing, dancing, and other forms of entertainment from a young age.”

A drop of cold sweat rolled down Wooyoung’s back.

“…None of those qualities make him distinguishable from any other princes or princesses within the Empire,” Hongjoong said flatly.

Wooyoung couldn’t even process his words well enough to muster up any outrage.

“Your control over the other kingdoms within the Empire is a thousand times stronger than it is here,” Woohyun spoke up, a thoughtful look on his face. “Surely you need the alliance much more with Kali than with any other kingdom.”

“Go on,” Hongjoong said.

“Wooyoung is adored by the public,” Woohyun said. “By welcoming him into the Choi family, you would gain popular approval in a way you couldn’t achieve otherwise without putting in years of effort.”

Which was…true, but he’d always viewed his charity work as insurance, just in case his family ever tried to marry him off unfavorably. He’d never expected it to work _against_ him.

There was a hollow, sinking feeling at the base of his stomach.

“And don’t forget that he is a Kasa,” the Queen added. “I know Milea has suffered from scarcity of Kasa in the past, particularly within the Imperial family. Surely you can see the benefits to the union of a Reaper and a Seer for the Imperial bloodline.”

Wooyoung took in a slow breath, as if his world wasn’t crumbling down around him, and as if Hongjoong’s eyes weren’t boring into his soul. He couldn’t let Hongjoong sense his terror at the thought of being married to the barbarian prince.

He cocked his head slightly to one side, and made sure to keep his shoulders relaxed. As if he were completely unbothered.

As if this had been his idea, instead of his family sacrificing him on the spot to save their own pride.

“And how am I to believe that your prince’s gift is as strong as you say?” Hongjoong questioned. “He has never seen formal combat.”

The King nodded at him, and Wooyoung resisted the urge to shrink away from the gazes of everyone in the room. They were looking at him appraisingly, and he knew that in that moment they didn’t see him as a person, but as an object. His father needed him to prove his worth to them, but only insomuch as he could be shown off and traded around as seen fit. And he was in no position to do anything but oblige.

He was keenly aware of the presence of the Kasa soldier at his back. There was little he could do with a Suppressor in such close proximity to him, but a little was better than what most Kasa would have been able to accomplish, given the same circumstances.

He unclenched his fists, and used the sturdy sensation of the soles of his feet against the floor to ground himself through his spine, accepting the headache that the ensuing strain would inevitably cause him. His target would be the soldier standing just to Hongjoong’s right.

Summoning his gift normally felt like an enhancement of a sense that had always existed, but had gone ignored until he paid conscious attention to it. In that moment, accessing it felt like trying to claw his way through a thick layer of cobwebs, with only the faintest memory of the sensation to guide his way.

He inhaled, drawing up as much of that memory as he could. Then he exhaled, and pushed it out along with his breath. His eyes widened minutely, and his jaw clenched. He felt the uncomfortable faint sensation of a sweat just beginning to dampen the skin of his lower back.

The soldier let out a cry of alarm, falling back and scrubbing at his eyes.

In Kali, the Kasa were numerous, and were not only valued but respected for their gift, which was believed to be a sign of blessings from the Goddess. Every single Kalian courtier in that room had seen Kasa abilities demonstrated a thousand times over. Even the abilities of Reapers like Wooyoung— whose work dealt with the human body and was typically bloodier than others— were commonplace to them.

Kasa were considerably scarcer further north in Milea. Wooyoung was sure it was in part due to population differences, but privately thought that the strong suspicion with which Kasa were viewed in Milea only served to drive the few Kasa they had to neighboring kingdoms like Kali. They had taken great strides in accepting and valuing Physicali and Operaterni in the war, but the remaining two classes of Kasa, Aetherni and Viterni—the latter to which Wooyoung belonged—were still greatly distrusted.

So Wooyoung was unsurprised by the tinge of fearful whispers that arose from the far side of the room, and of the sudden guarded edge to the looks of the Milean soldiers. Even Hongjoong appeared unsettled, and he jerked around sharply to inspect the soldier, reaching a hand out to stabilize him as his balance wavered.

The soldier’s eyes blinked open, and a Milean soldier openly gasped.

The whites of the soldier’s eyes had bled a deep crimson, and he was crying bloody tears. The red tracks down his face had smudged when he’d grabbed at his eyes, and were smeared across his pale skin, making him look more demon than man.

“His vision is not harmed,” Wooyoung said, tired but triumphant. He clasped his hands together underneath the table to hide their shaking. “And the effect will fade in a few weeks.”

The Queen cleared her throat lightly, and the attention of the courtiers and soldiers in the room switched back to her immediately, though there was a lingering, uneasy silence in the room that hadn’t been there before. They all discarded him so easily, as soon as they felt that his purpose had been served. His lip curled slightly in disgust at them all, despite his best efforts to hide it.

“His talent speaks for itself,” she said. “How many Kasa have you met in your life who are too powerful for even a suppressor to stop? One? Two? And he is a Reaper, nonetheless.”

Hongjoong did not respond. His lips had thinned slightly compared to before, and he had returned to staring at Wooyoung, something unreadable in his eyes.

Wooyoung blinked past the pain forming at the base of his skull—he had maybe overextended himself slightly—and gave the General his most genuine fake smile.

“And his dowry would be considerable,” Woohyun added. “Perhaps similar to the desired amount for the reparations, which we would still refuse to pay.”

Hongjoong was silent for a long moment.

That was not a good sign, because it meant that he was seriously considering the proposal. It was admittedly a good one, that would satisfy both sides. Kali would pay Milea for war damages, while saving face on the international stage. Having Wooyoung irrevocably forced into the Choi family would indeed garner support for them in Kali, and the Chois could pick out their favorite surrogate to create perfect little superpowered babies for their bloodline.

Oh god, it was a good deal.

The realization that this proposal might actually—would probably actually—happen rocked Wooyoung to his core. It was a good thing no one cared for his opinion, because he wouldn’t have been able to find the words to do so. All he could do, struck to the bone with a terror and helplessness he’d only felt when certain he was going to be killed, was glance helplessly around the room for Yeosang.

He found him standing in the corner by the door, his fists clenched and his mouth a hard line. His eyes softened when their gazes locked, and he gave an almost indiscernible nod.

Wooyoung exhaled shakily. At least he knew that, no matter what happened, Yeosang would be with him.

Even if it meant he had to follow Wooyoung into the court of the very people who destroyed his life.

Finally, Hongjoong clicked his tongue, and tipped his chair back onto its back legs.

“My men and I will finish drafting up the treaty,” he said, motioning to the soldier at his left, who had been furiously taking notes of all they had discussed. “Soon as it’s signed, we expect you to incorporate the appropriate changes to your Constitution. I’ll remain here for a few days to oversee those changes, and to begin the reduction of your military and registration of Kasa, which will be effective immediately. The Imperial military presence will remain in Neades in full force for the next three months during the initial transition, and will be scaled back as appropriate going forwards.”

Wooyoung stared at him, clenching his jaw to keep his mouth from dropping open in horror. He’d—he’d _agreed_ to this?

“Perhaps it would be best for us to retire until that is finished,” Wooyoung’s father said. His face remained blank, but Wooyoung knew him well enough to tell that he was pleased with himself. “Once you are done, I will be happy to review and sign the document, and begin the necessary steps.”

Hongjoong nodded. “Our guards will escort you all to your rooms,” he said, and waved a hand to dismiss them.

A flurry of motion erupted throughout the room as side conversations began again, and people moved towards the exit. Wooyoung tried to stand, and let out a gasp when his legs unexpectedly failed him and he dropped back into his seat. He bit his lip in embarrassment, and glanced around in the hopes that no one had seen—he’d tried _so hard_ to keep his composure.

But it was hard to appear collected when he felt anything but. It felt like the rest of the world had turned a new page, but had left him behind, so that he was floating in a sort of nothingness, blankly and detachedly watching everything happening around him and to him.

A hand closed around his arm, firmly but gently, and helped to pull him to his feet. He started and glanced back to find the Suppressor blinking back at him.

“With me, please, Your Highness,” he said in a low voice, and Wooyoung stared at the hint of sympathy in his eyes with complete and utter confusion. He wasn’t this Milean’s ‘Highness;’ he wasn’t his anything, unless you counted a political prisoner. What was the point of paying respect that was no longer due?

The Suppressor tugged softly at his arm, and encountered little resistance in guiding him through the throngs of people and out into the hallway. As they passed through the doors, Wooyoung noticed five Milean soldiers peel off from the group surrounding Hongjoong and follow them. These were to be his personal jailers, then.

Further down the hallway, he could see his parents and brother being walked to their respective rooms, surrounded by no more than three soldiers each.

Wooyoung’s lips quirked in a bitter smile.

At least the Mileans were smart enough to know who the real threat was.

* * *

“You’re _absolutely_ sure you aren’t allowed to tell me anything?” Wooyoung wheedled, tilting his head to the side and widening his eyes slightly to appear as curious and harmless as possible.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, but Hongjoong has ordered us—” began the Suppressor, who had cracked after four minutes of convincing and had introduced himself as a man named Changbin.

“—not to give out any information that hasn’t been pre-approved,” Wooyoung finished for him, rolling his eyes at the soldier’s stubbornness. “I’m not asking for military secrets, I’m asking for information, anything, about the man who will be—” the word stuck in his throat, and he frowned, and then tried again. “—who will be my _husband._ ”

The word rolled off his tongue strangely.

The idea of having a husband wasn’t what had devastated him so utterly and thoroughly. As the youngest prince, even his Kasa status hadn’t exempted him from expendability. Wooyoung had been raised to marry, and to marry well. While Woohyun, as the future King of Kali, had been trained in sword fighting, and in military strategy, and in a thousand other things, Wooyoung had been relegated to lessons about dancing and singing and making conversation. Seonghwa’s lessons in diplomacy and honing his Gift were the only remotely interesting things Wooyoung was allowed to learn. Woohyun had been taught to present himself as handsome and regal; Wooyoung had been taught to soften everything about himself to appear as _pretty_ and _pleasing_ as possible. It had always been expected that Wooyoung would marry some neighboring King or Queen for his family’s benefit.

It was just—

It was just that, until very recently, he had expected to marry Yeosang.

Sirda’s fall was still so fresh in everyone’s minds that Wooyoung hadn’t quite been able to process it. Kali had been strongly allied with Sirda for all eight years of the war, right up until the end, so he and Yeosang had practically grown up together. As it had been only natural for his family to marry him to someone in Sirda, and he and Yeosang had gotten on so spectacularly, Wooyoung had allowed himself to be duped into believing he would be able to get away with marrying his best friend.

He didn’t love Yeosang, not in that way, but the thought of spending the rest of his life together with him was comforting. He knew that, as Yeosang’s husband, he would have been content.

Happy, even.

But Sirda had been burned to the ground, and Milea had won the war handily, and in a few weeks’ time Wooyoung would be traveling across an entire Empire to marry Choi San.

He shivered at the thought.

If the Mileans were feared in Kali, the Imperial family was even more so, and the Crown Prince perhaps the most of all. It was likely due to his status as a Seer; Kalians recognized him as one of the most powerful Kasa, dangerous in a way Wooyoung could never hope to be. Wooyoung was terrified of the prospect of being forced into a loveless marriage with someone who he could never hide from—someone who could dig around in his brain without his consent and without his knowledge any time he liked. There would be no way to hide if he was scared, or if he was angry, or if he was trying to hide something.

All of Wooyoung’s lessons had centered around deception. How to make her think that you love her smile. How to make him feel like the most powerful man in the room. How to keep him from getting angry so he doesn’t brutalize you on your wedding night. And all of those lessons were completely and terrifyingly useless in the face of the Milean Crown Prince.

Choi San was infamous for being both impossibly beautiful and impossibly cruel. They said his skin was as pale as the ice that made up his heart, that he could look into your eyes and pluck out your very soul without so much as a blink.

His fearsome might in the war had not been forgotten, either. He’d returned North to Bravem for the last few months of the war, but before doing so had been absolutely instrumental in the downfall of Sirda. Wooyoung had been told, when Yeosang had been safely out of earshot, that he’d taken down the entire Sirdan royal guard—had turned them mad—without so much as a twitch of his little finger.

Wooyoung knew that, if the Crown Prince wanted, he could make Wooyoung’s life a metaphorical _and_ literal hell, in every way imaginable. He was terrified to think of what horror that kind of monster could be as a husband.

“—the orders I have been given,” Changbin finished, snapping him out of his reverie, and for a single, savage moment, Wooyoung wanted to beat the apologetic look off of his face.

He composed himself, and threw the Suppressor a sorry attempt at a smile.

“Of course, I understand,” he said softly. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to lie down for a while.”

Changbin thankfully only followed him to the door, leaving him alone in his room. Wooyoung kicked off his boots, and shuffled to the bed, feeling like the past few hours had aged him ninety years. As soon as he was close enough, he toppled forward, and collapsed onto the bed in a heap. He was too keyed-up to sleep, but he had desperately needed some time to himself, even if just for a moment.

He rolled onto his back, and stared up at the canopy of his bed, and tried very hard not to cry.


	3. Chapter Three

Wooyoung could have _died_ from boredom in the days leading up to his departure for Bravem.

Kim Hongjoong had elected to keep the royal family and the courtiers apart from each other, aside from the necessary gatherings for the post-war transition. And as Wooyoung had little political influence, he’d been deemed unnecessary for almost everything—redrafting their Constitution, setting up the Kasa registry, laying off half of their soldiers, and more. He was pretty sure he’d sat around just as much as the lowest-level courtiers, which had been as ridiculous as it’d been insulting.

He’d been allowed to make a public appearance only once, with the rest of his family, the day immediately following the signing of the treaty. And his only job had been to stand on a balcony overlooking the palace courtyard, standing in his rightful place behind his father and his brother, while they announced the conditions of their surrender. They’d only expected him to stand there, and to look pretty for the public.

Just before they’d exited out onto the balcony, his father had quietly asked him not to speak. So he’d gazed out over the discontented crowd as their murmurs had grown louder and more conflicted, a smile frozen across his face. The announcement had only taken minutes, but by the end of it Wooyoung’s cheeks had felt cramped from the force it had taken to keep his smile in place.

Aside from that one time, he’d been holed up in the same chambers where he’d spent Kali’s last few days of independence. He’d asked to see Yeosang, or Seonghwa, or even Woohyun, and had been denied. The only social interaction he’d had access to had been in the form of the Operaterni who’d been tasked with guarding him. His guard had consisted of four soldiers—two outside his doors, two within—and one Operaterni. Servants had still been permitted to wait on him, but had been ordered not to respond to anything he asked of them. The normal soldiers had similarly refused to engage with him in even the slightest of ways, which had been absolutely infuriating. Even Changbin had proved to be somewhat of a conversational deadweight.

Then a second Suppressor had come along.

Once a day, Changbin would switch off with this other Suppressor—presumably so that he could sleep—and this man, named Jisung, had thankfully been considerably easier to sway. Jisung had seemed slightly kinder than the other soldiers; there had been something close to understanding in his eyes when he’d first looked at him. It had only taken half a day for Wooyoung to wheedle him into allowing him a short walk in the gardens. The other guards had clearly disapproved of the idea, but Jisung had been able to veto their disagreement with a simple wave of his hand.

(Wooyoung had carefully filed away in his head that Kasa soldiers were ranked higher than non-Kasa soldiers in the Imperial Army—and, more specifically, that the non-Kasa soldiers seemed resentful of such a thing. Who knew if the information would become leverage with which he could manipulate the soldiers in the future.)

So Wooyoung had been allowed out of his rooms once a day, for around an hour, to stroll within one of the many little courtyard gardens within Neades’ walls. And when he’d tilted his face back and felt the warmth of the Kali sun on his skin, Wooyoung hadn’t cared that he’d been forced to walk with Jisung’s hand carefully gripping his arm and with four guards tightly assembled around him.

It was unlikely that Choi San would ever permit for him to return to his childhood home, after they were married. So he’d been grateful to be able to soak up as much of the sunlight and heat, which he’d taken for granted in all his years growing up, before he had to head north.

And so he had spent his days—mostly cooped up in his rooms, but occasionally out in the gardens, trying desperately to shake off the constant, encroaching weight of his near future. But it had been difficult to do so when he’d been all-too aware of the countdown of days until the delegation was set to leave.

The pressure of what awaited him grew heavier with each passing day.

And so, on the morning of the tenth day after his father had signed the Treaty of Neades, Wooyoung woke with a gasp from a dream of which he had no memory.

“Your Highness?” came Changbin’s inquiring voice, from across the room.

Wooyoung waited just a moment for the lingering sense of breathlessness from his dream to pass, and swung his legs over the side of the bed to stand up. “Good morning, Binnie,” he replied, shooting him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Today’s the day, huh?”

He must have failed to contain his true feelings, because Changbin hesitated before approaching him. Wooyoung knew the Suppressor had been ordered not to have unnecessary conversation with him, and so he watched him curiously as he closed the distance between them and reached out a hand to clasp his shoulder.

The only human contact Wooyoung had experienced over the past ten days had been from Jisung or his servants, and he started a little at the touch.

“I know how you talk of him around here,” he said, voice low so that the guards outside could not hear. “But His Imperial Highness is not an unreasonable man.”

He felt a brief flash of irritation at the assumption that Changbin’s words could reassure him in any way. Changbin was a Milean himself who’d been taught since birth to believe that the sun shined out of the Imperial family’s asses. The Emperor was masterful in spinning Milea’s crimes as triumphs—in masking tyranny with claims of justice. In the war, despite suffering from collateral damage, Milea’s civilians had remained steadfast in their support of the Empire. And if even their civilians had been so wholly brainwashed, he was certain that their soldiers’ faith must be absolutely unshakeable.

But Changbin was one of the few Mileans who had been kind to him, and it was not his fault that he’d grown up under a veiled dictatorship.

So Wooyoung dipped his head in gratitude. “I sincerely hope you are right,” he said softly.

Changbin’s brows furrowed slightly, and he opened his mouth, as if to speak, but then a knock came on the door. Wooyoung suddenly became all-too aware of just how much etiquette they were both breaking, then—Changbin for encroaching into his space with no witnesses to vouch for his intent, and Wooyoung for letting him. He darted backwards in a panic to try to put an appropriate amount of distance between them, and Changbin did the same, just in time for a small army of attendants to burst into the room.

Wooyoung tended to hate silence, because it made his thoughts feel too loud to fit comfortably inside his head. He’d always hated attending his father’s cabinet meetings and negotiations for the same reasons he’d loved holding feasts and parties; though he could sit quietly and patiently through hours of formal proceedings, it was always torture to do so. His mother had often teased, back when he’d been younger and worse at containing himself, that the only time he ever stopped talking was when he had to take a breath. And in the safety of his chambers, he vastly preferred attendants who filled the room with chatter and laughter and _life_. So he was used to their daily arrival plunging the room into the chaotic hustle and bustle of the day to come.

But instead, his chambers remained deathly quiet, even as the attendants filed in and began sorting through his room to make the necessary preparations for the day. And there was no question as to why—the Milean soldiers were watching them like hawks.

Wooyoung wasn’t sure what any of his servants could tell him to help him escape his fate in any way, so he didn’t see the point in the restriction. But watching his belongings be packed away and being dressed in absolute silence only strengthened his general sense of unease.

Hongjoong had arranged for him to leave Neades in a closed carriage, and had refused to grant him a public goodbye, so his attendants dressed him in casual travel clothes rather than his usual formal attire. Wooyoung knew he was trying to keep him out of the public eye as much as possible. With defeat fresh in their minds, the Kali public was unlikely to let the Mileans lead the most popular member of the royal family away without a fuss. It was a clever move on Hongjoong’s part, but Wooyoung hated him all the more for it.

(He’d held on to a smidgen of hope, however irrational, that the subjects whose favor he’d so carefully cultivated would help him escape his fate. It had been devastating to have that remaining hope stolen from him.)

As soon as he was dressed, Changbin stepped up to his side, and inclined his head towards the door.

“After the guards, please, Your Highness,” he said gently.

Wooyoung froze. “Of course,” he said, just a tad too quickly. He stepped forward, stamping down the screaming in his head that it was too soon, he’d only just gotten ready, surely they didn’t have to leave since his servants were still packing his belongings—he knew that showing his hesitance would only prove his weakness.

He made his way down the stairs carefully, doing his best to keep his face impassive and to ignore the guards flanking him on all sides. But then at the bottom, instead of proceeding forwards to the front hall, he was steered left, towards the side of the castle.

His heartbeat quickened.

“Where are we going?” he asked Changbin, doing his best to quell his alarm. “This is not a route I am accustomed to.”

He reminded himself that the Mileans couldn’t harm him, not this late in the process, without risking absolute riots throughout Kali.

It did little to calm him.

“All is well, Your Highness,” Changbin said. They turned a corner, exiting the Keep into the man castle. “The carriages have been stationed at the eastern gates.”

Wooyoung grit his teeth.

“Lovely,” he said.

The eastern entrance was one typically used for servants and incoming supplies; it was an outright insult for him to be brought there as a member of the royal family. It was even more so considering that his parents and brother—of even higher status than he was—would be forced there as well, to see him off.

Hongjoong was determined to see him smuggled away like some illegal goods, and didn’t seem to care about damning the dignity of the crown as long as he got what he wanted.

They walked in complete silence, save for the soft sounds of their footfalls against the stone flooring. As minute after minute passed, and they failed to encounter even a single soul, Wooyoung realized that Hongjoong had gone so far as to order that the servants and nobles be cleared out from this section of the castle. Of course, they ran into dozens of pairs of Milean soldiers, who stood attention at the entrance to every corridor. But the soldiers didn’t acknowledge them; their eyes stared straight ahead, right through him. Their blank gazes made them look more statue than man.

Sentiment tempted him to savor every last glimpse of a home that he would likely never see again in his lifetime. But that way lay madness, and so Wooyoung did his best to not let such thoughts linger, in the interest of making it out of the castle with as much of his pride intact as he could salvage. Instead, he held his head high, and focused all of his attention on the grounding sensation of pressure against the soles of his shoes as he walked.

They reached the exit in what felt like both an eternity and a split-second, leaving Wooyoung with a faint sense of whiplash that left him feeling even more unsettled. The sun was shining outside, and the doors had been propped open to allow a breeze to enter the corridor. But Wooyoung registered none of its warmth, even as he stepped outside.

The carriage that he assumed had been prepared for him was waiting by the doors. It was only one part of a long caravan of carriages, wagons, and Milean soldiers, both on foot and on horseback. It appeared that a sizeable portion of the Milean army would be returning to the capital along with him and the rest of Kali’s delegation. A few servants scurried here and there, loading up some of the final supplies, but for the most part the convoy seemed ready to depart at any moment.

But Wooyoung could care less about the soldiers; he was far more interested in the two men who were standing in front of his carriage. They had been engaged in inaudible but polite conversation with each other, but upon his entrance had turned to present him with the appropriate bows.

Wooyoung struggled with his surprise at the sight of them, and forgot to acknowledge their greeting. “Rise,” he said, a moment too late, thrown off balance.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” Seonghwa said, as proper as ever. “I trust you are being treated well.”

“Oh, shut up,” Wooyoung breathed, and rushed forward to hug him.

Seonghwa froze for an instant, probably wary of the guards’ response, but then softened and hugged him back, almost desperately. Wooyoung buried his face in his shoulder and squeezed him tightly, trying to convey everything that he couldn’t say aloud. Seonghwa’s hand came up to rest comfortingly on the back of his neck, and Wooyoung had to blink back tears.

When they pulled apart, Seonghwa gave him a sad smile.

“I trust we’ll have a safe journey,” he said softly, and squeezed Wooyoung’s hands. “I’ll ensure your comfort myself, if I have to.”

“Thank you,” Wooyoung said thickly, all-too aware that he was talking about much more than their trip.

He knew there had to be some game that Seonghwa was playing with the Mileans, undoubtedly at his father’s behest. His father had always been careful to hide Seonghwa’s true role at his side from the court, but they’d always planned on Seonghwa revealing himself in times of emergency such as a surrender. It was beyond daring to try anything against a family whose Crown Prince could read minds, but the decision was clearly out of his hands. But whatever his father hoped to accomplish by having his Seonghwa infiltrate Bravem, Wooyoung did not care to know. He had learned from twenty infuriating years with Seonghwa that it was futile to try and uncover any secrets he wished to keep hidden.

As much as it irked him to be left out of the loop, it was best for him to avoid poking his nose into Seonghwa’s affairs for the time being. He simply took comfort in the fact that it meant one of his dearest friends was coming with him to Bravem.

As for the other…

He turned to the man beside him, and couldn’t quite bring himself to speak.

“I’m glad to see that you’re well, Your Highness,” Yeosang said quietly.

Wooyoung _ached_ to be able to embrace him the way he had Seonghwa. But while Seonghwa’s role as his tutor and caretaker permitted them to touch one another informally, Yeosang’s status was that of a lesser noble, and formality necessitated their distance.

“Likewise, Lord Youngsoo,” Wooyoung said, only barely managing to conceal his worry. “Are you sure you are prepared for our journey? If I remember correctly, you never did care for the cold.”

The ghost of a smile passed over Yeosang’s face.

“I am quite sure,” he said, and Wooyoung could find nothing in his eyes but determination. “There is nothing that could keep me from my duty to represent our kingdom.”

As was typical for Yeosang, he said so much with such simple words, and Wooyoung’s breath caught in his throat. He felt a rush of gratitude for him, but it was followed instantly with a bone-wracking guilt. Accompanying him to Bravem meant that Yeosang had to face his worst nightmares—had to descend into the throes of the enemies who had torn his life apart.

He knew that his departure for Bravem was the only way that Yeosang could have ever been convinced to venture into such a detested place.

And Yeosang would be in incredible danger. If the Mileans ever found out who he was—if the Choi prince ever read their minds—

He prayed to the Goddess that Choi San’s gift wouldn’t be their downfall.

“I—” he began.

“I hope you weren’t waiting for long,” called Kim Hongjoong, striding out into the sunlight with a cocky grin on his face. Following him were the King and Queen, their expressions unreadable, and Woohyun, whose face was atypically drawn and pinched.

“Of course not,” Wooyoung replied, returning his smile with as much false confidence as he could muster.

“Your Highness,” Hongjoong greeted, with a short bow.

If Wooyoung could have afforded to, he would have been petty and refused to acknowledge Hongjoong’s greeting. But he had an inkling that his continued grace in the face of indignity after indignity would infuriate him more, so he dipped his head and thanked him.

Then, “Lords Seonghwa and Youngsoo,” Hongjoong nodded.

Wooyoung was fairly sure he was the only one who had noticed, but Seonghwa’s gaze had sharpened dangerously when Hongjoong had first strolled outside. Now, as his presence was acknowledged, a tranquil smile was pasted across his lips, and he bowed deeply.

He reminded himself that he wasn’t allowed to butt into Seonghwa’s business. Even if he _really_ wanted to, now that he knew it was enough to make him betray emotion.

Hongjoong then stepped to the side, and motioned towards his parents.

It was incredibly rude for someone without royal rank—by necessity of lower status than himself—to so casually order him around like that. But no one seemed to bat an eye, and so Wooyoung did his best not to let his temper filter into his serene expression, stepping forward towards his father.

The King did not reach out to touch him.

“Do everything in your power to fulfill your duty to your kingdom,” he said, face carefully blank. “I trust that you will please the Crown Prince.”

Wooyoung’s gut rankled at his words, but he had expected such an impersonal farewell, and so he bowed deeply and murmured his assurance to do so.

Almost before he had finished speaking, his mother stepped over to clasp his hands. Her palms were cool, and her grip almost painfully tight.

“This has always been the destiny given to you by the Goddess,” she said firmly. “I have faith that your upbringing will enable you to represent Kali well and to be the best husband that the Crown Prince could ask for.”

His smile froze across his lips, but he still inclined his head. His mother had always been the most insistent about preparing him for marriage, even more so than his father. It was likely because of the impact that marrying his father had had on her life. Though he doubted she felt much empathy for him, there existed an understanding between them that his father or his brother, who would never have a marriage determine their life’s worth, could never hope to be a part of.

Woohyun’s expression twisted slightly when they made eye contact, and before Wooyoung could wonder why he reached out to yank him into a hug. It lasted only a few seconds—just long enough for him to pat him on the back—but left Wooyoung reeling, even after he’d been released.

“I’m going to miss seeing your face around,” Woohyun told him, and squeezed his shoulders. “But I think you will settle in nicely in Bravem.”

“I—” he started, and then stopped. He had always gotten on better with his brother than with his parents, but Woohyun had been a stickler for propriety since childhood. They hadn’t touched each other affectionately like that in years, and he didn’t quite know what to say.

“I’ll miss you, too,” he said, still stunned.

Woohyun just smiled at him.

He’d expected his parent’s apathy, but the unexpected sympathy from his brother caused a swirling mess of conflicted emotions to bubble up in his throat. It threatened to overwhelm him, but he gathered himself and set his shoulders back.

He cleared his throat, and addressed his family as a whole. “Thank you for taking care of me for all these years. I will do my best to make you proud.”

Then he took a deep breath, and turned his back on both his family and his home.

Yeosang immediately stepped forward, holding out his hand to help Wooyoung into the carriage. Wooyoung dared to squeeze his hand briefly as he stepped up, and then forced himself to let go.

And if his touch lingered slightly, no one seemed to notice.

He was pleased when Seonghwa and Yeosang entered the carriage after him; he’d been unsure if they’d be allowed to travel together. But it appeared that the Mileans trusted them not to conspire under the watch of Changbin, whose gift required him to remain near Wooyoung and who was the last of them to enter the carriage. He took the seat by Wooyoung’s side, but his presence was familiar enough that Wooyoung still felt a far cry more comfortable than he’d been just moments ago.

He let the tension in his shoulders drop slightly, and—

And then Hongjoong was climbing into the carriage after them, and dropping himself down into the seat next to Seonghwa.

Speechless, Wooyoung exchanged a glance with Seonghwa, whose expression could only be described as indignant. Hongjoong had no reason to be there, not when he was staying in Kali to ensure a smooth postwar transition. Or maybe—

“Shall you be traveling with us?” Yeosang inquired, his tone demure but his gaze sharp.

Hongjoong’s lip curled.

“Emperor Choi has summoned me back to Bravem,” he announced, seemingly delighted by their bemusement. “My Lieutenant Generals will hold down things here in Neades. I thought I’d get to know all of you better, and it was quite convenient that you had an extra seat.”

It was a completely unanticipated development, but Wooyoung was determined to roll with all of Hongjoong’s punches, including this.

“We are of course grateful for your presence,” he lied, and smiled, though it was more of a baring of teeth. “I know that our safety is ensured as long as you are by our side.”

Hongjoong’s smile grew wider. He did not reply.

The carriage door slammed shut. The windows had been covered by curtains—not the usual sheer ones used in Kali, but thicker ones, such that no one could see in. Wooyoung almost let out a bitter laugh at just how far the Mileans were going to conceal his departure. It might seem like an exercise of power to some. To him, he felt that it just betrayed his fear.

He wielded the influence of his family along with his last name, but his status as the youngest helped him to avoid the blame for his parent’s less popular decisions. He spent days upon days giving back to the public, carefully cultivating his relationship with them. He was fiercely loved, and even Kim Hongjoong, the man who had been marked as a devil by the Goddess herself, feared the length his subjects would go for him.

It was one of the only pieces of power that he could call his own, and its might would weaken with every mile the Mileans would take him from his home. He was sure they knew that, but was still determined to try to leverage it as much as possible.

Hopefully, the fear of riots in Kali on his behalf would keep the Choi prince from brutalizing him.

The carriage started moving with a slight lurch. By this point, Yeosang and Seonghwa had fallen into murmured conversation with one another, playing the all-too familiar game of using small talk to mask deeper meanings.

Meanwhile, Hongjoong was staring at Wooyoung as if he could crack his ribcage open to see what made him tick with the force of his gaze alone.

“How does it make you feel to be leaving Neades?” he asked.

Wooyoung had spent the past ten days only barely managing to hold his emotions at bay. But at those words, simple as they were, the full force of those feelings slammed into him, so forcefully that it felt as if he had taken an arrow to his stomach. He stared at Hongjoong dumbly. The heart-shattering torrent of desperation and terror and fury inside him whirled around so fervently, he was scared it would leap out from inside him if he dared to open his mouth.

Always quick to defend him, Yeosang opened his mouth to speak. His gaze was dark enough to kill. Fortunately, for Hongjoong’s sake, Seonghwa beat him to it.

“I trust you understand the sensitivity of this topic,” he said gently. “It is far too soon to be asking such callous questions.”

By that point, Wooyoung had recovered enough to trust himself to speak.

“Of course, I am sad to be leaving my childhood home, and I am apprehensive of the circumstances under which I must do so,” he said firmly, because he’d be damned if he allowed Hongjoong even an inch of ground to triumph over. “But I am determined to make the best of my future and I will not back down from the challenges ahead.”

Hongjoong said nothing, allowing him to continue, but Wooyoung got the inexplicable sense that his answer had somehow pleased him.

“I am also excited to travel somewhere new,” he volunteered. “I have never seen snow before. I am…curious, to see what it is like.”

His words came out a little more vulnerable than he had intended, and Hongjoong gave him a long look. He suddenly seemed more human than Wooyoung had ever felt him to be.

One moment of silence stretched out between them.

Another.

“The snow is beautiful, and peaceful,” Hongjoong said, voice uncharacteristically soft. “It sticks to your eyelashes and melts on your cheeks and tongue. When San was younger, he loved to play outside in the snow, though I think half of it was how he’d be fussed over once he came back inside. His attendants would bundle him up in furs and give him hot milk with honey until he’d warmed back up.”

Wooyoung didn’t know what to be more shocked over—the revelation that Hongjoong apparently had the ability and the humanity to wax poetic about the past, the fact that the Choi prince hadn’t been a demon since birth, or that a mere General had deigned to call a Crown Prince by his given name.

“I know you undoubtedly have your reservations about our Prince, but he has always loved Bravem in the winter. I’m sure that if you ask him, he would be happy to show it to you.”

It was difficult for him to imagine asking the Choi prince for something as trivial and childish as going outside in the snow, but Wooyoung hid his disbelief. No matter how small of a kindness his words were, it was still a kindness, and he could not afford to dissuade Hongjoong of them.

“Thank you,” he said. “Did you spend much time around his Imperial Majesty when he was younger?”

Hongjoong’s expression shuttered.

“I spent much time with the princess when I was a child,” he said stiffly. “The prince was always close at her heels.”

“Please accept my apologies,” Wooyoung said, almost automatically, panicked at the way Hongjoong had sobered instantly.

He got only a curt nod in response.

The delicate truce that had begun to build itself during Hongjoong’s story had shattered in an instant, and Wooyoung cursed himself for being so careless. He should’ve known to avoid anything that could lead back to the Choi princess.

She was, after all, the only member of the Imperial family to have been killed in the war.

Her death had come in the early years of the war—back when Wooyoung had been too sheltered and too young to understand quite what was going on. His own family had suffered no losses, but they hadn’t fought in battles the way both the Choi princess and later the Choi prince had. He knew that the Princess Jia had been well-loved, especially within the Imperial family. The mark of her death on the Imperial family and the citizens of Bravem, and the hatred they were sure to have for him because of it, was to be his greatest obstacle in the times ahead.

Wooyoung turned his gaze away from Hongjoong, and prayed desperately that this failure with him was not an omen of his future.


	4. Chapter Four

The journey from Neades to Bravem took an entire fortnight, and felt like an entire year. Wooyoung was certain that in those fourteen days he had traveled further than in the previous twenty years of his life combined.

Under any other circumstances, the journey would’ve been a pleasant one. His parents had never permitted him to travel very far, despite his wishes to see more of the world outside of Neades’ walls. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Hongjoong he was looking forward to the opportunity to see new things. They’d passed through the outermost edges of Kali, through the remains of Sirda, and through much of the Milean Empire—all places Wooyoung had never seen in person.

It would’ve been riveting, if he hadn’t been confined to either his carriage or a room at an inn for the entire trip. Changbin, Jisung, and the rest of his guards had shuttled him hastily back and forth between the two, only when absolutely necessary, and typically at night. Hongjoong’s orders, they had said. They had been politely but firmly set on keeping Wooyoung from seeing any of his surroundings, and on making it almost impossible for the common people to see them on their journey.

To say Wooyoung had been disappointed would be an understatement. While he hadn’t been surprised that Hongjoong had smuggled him out of Neades, where public support for him was highest, it seemed excessive to continue to do so even once they had left Kali entirely.

If you’d asked him before he’d actually left his home, Wooyoung would have chalked it up to Hongjoong’s spite for him. But his conversation with Hongjoong, on the day of their departure, had stuck with him, even though he hadn’t seen the man once during any of the following days. Hongjoong was cunning, and observant, and had no remorse doing what needed to be done in order to get exactly what he wanted. But though he’d done many things that had grated on Wooyoung’s pride, all of them had served their own purposes. It seemed at least a little out of character for him to do something purely to be cruel.

Of course, it was hard to be patient and not take things personally, especially when he’d been cooped up inside a carriage for _fourteen days in a row_ , but Wooyoung was trying.

“Your Highness,” Changbin said quietly, and Wooyoung felt a hand lightly touch his wrist. “Please leave those alone.”

Wooyoung pressed his lips together in a facsimile of a smile, acknowledging his concern, and then resumed trying to pull back the curtains.

(He was trying, but his patience had limits, and he wasn’t perfect.)

“Your Highness—” Changbin began again, a hint of frustration entering into his voice.

“We are minutes away from reaching the place that will be my home for the rest of my life,” Wooyoung insisted, drawing the fabric back to try to peer out. “I am not harming anyone.”

Across from them, Seonghwa’s mouth thinned, but he and Yeosang said nothing. They had proven far more wary around the Milean soldiers than Wooyoung cared to be, but luckily for him their positions made it impossible for them to try to correct his behavior.

Wooyoung craned his head, and finally got the angle right to see the city approaching them.

Bravem was more of a fortress than a city, he’d always heard, and it certainly looked the part: the entire city was surrounded by a massive wall, several stories high and several horses’ width across. Up ahead, Wooyoung could see the rest of the caravan—wagons of supplies, soldiers marching on foot, and higher ranking officers riding on horseback in groups among them. They looked to be only ten or so minutes away from reaching a massive, metal gate—one of only four existing entrances into the city.

The gates were perhaps the most famous feature of Bravem, both for their size and their immovability. They could not be moved by mere pulleys and horses; only trained and powerful Kasa, working in tandem, could open them. If Wooyoung squinted, he could make out tiny figures standing along the base of the wall, and stationed at several balconies built into the wall on either side of the gates. He counted ten men in total.

His brows furrowed in confusion.

That was impossible. Back when Neades had been breached, it had taken four Physicali alone to take down the entrance to the throne room. These gates were at least three times the size, and made of metal to boot; there was no way so few Physicali could operate them—

His hand was gently but firmly pulled away from the curtains, and they fell back closed.

“Your Highness,” Changbin gritted out. “If they see that you are trying to look out—”

The carriage ground to a halt.

“—it will draw the attention of the higher-ups,” he finished.

Wooyoung glanced across to Seonghwa, who seemed to be barely restraining himself from tearing his hair out. He was a chronic worrier, though; it didn’t matter whether Wooyoung can poking at Kalian courtiers or leaders of the Milean military. Plus, Wooyoung could handle himself.

The door swung open, and none other than Kim Hongjoong peered down at him.

“Is there something wrong?” he asked dryly.

“Yes, thank you for asking,” Wooyoung said, without hesitation. “I’ve otherwise complied with your wishes for the entire trip, and I’d like to be able to see outside when we enter Bravem.”

Hongjoong snorted. “If this has been your idea of compliance, I’d hate to see your idea of a rebellion.”

Around him, he felt the others tense; the words were a slight, and they all knew it.

To be fair, Wooyoung had pushed the limits as they had gone along. Every time he’d been transported between the carriage and an inn, he’d tried to walk away or asked to look around the town they were passing through. But he’d acquiesced every time he had been firmly asked to stay in place, and hadn’t gone out of his way to try to sneak past his guard. Hongjoong was doing him a disservice.

Still, even if he was constrained by etiquette and by his circumstances, Wooyoung could be quite persuasive and determined when he needed to be. Hongjoong hadn’t seen the half of it, yet.

Yet.

“You’re right,” he said archly, refusing to break eye contact. “You would. Now, will you let me see my people, or do you plan on hiding me from them forever?”

Hongjoong smiled, but it didn’t fully reach his eyes. Wooyoung couldn’t quite figure out if his defiance amused or irritated him.

“If you wish to see the people of Bravem so badly, why not move to one of our open carriages?” Hongjoong suggested lightly. “Surely that is far better than your current situation.”

An open carriage offered much less protection than a closed one did; considering that they were in the heart of the Milean Empire, which had only recently ceased to be their enemy, exposing himself to the public in such a way came with no small amount of risk. From the corner of his eye, Wooyoung saw Seonghwa shoot him a warning look.

He ignored it, and took Hongjoong’s bait.

“Of course.”

Regardless of Hongjoong’s intentions, one thing was true: he could achieve nothing if he showed fear of the very people he was going to have to win over. In a situation where he had been stripped of what little political power he had, his only hope lay with the common people. Just as they had been his saving grace multiple times back in Neades, they were his best bet for safety here in Bravem.

Attempting to win the hearts of the people who had suffered and died at his people’s hands—who had lost their beloved princess to the war—would be no easy task. Wooyoung had no expectations of achieving it without personal cost, but there was nothing else he could do.

He had to face them now, had to try to spin his own story and image as much as he could. As soon as he arrived at the castle, he knew the court gossip would do him no favors. He had to preemptively garner as much popular support as possible, and that would only come through taking advantage of every single opportunity, no matter how small, to interact with the public.

Hongjoong quirked a brow.

“Very well,” he said, and signaled to him to step out from the carriage.

“Your Highness,” Yeosang said quietly, just as Wooyoung made to stand. “Won’t you catch cold?”

Wooyoung gave him a sharp look—Yeosang couldn’t afford to draw attention to himself—but then caught himself. He sighed. Yeosang was only worried for his safety, the same way Seonghwa was. But they were much more help to Wooyoung when they weren’t putting themselves in danger out of concern for him. He could handle himself—he had to, if he wanted to survive this.

“I’ll be alright, Lord Youngsoo,” he said, and the fake name tasted like ash in his mouth. “Thank you for your concern.”

With a dismissal as clear as that, it was impossible for Yeosang to protest further, and he sank back into his seat with a furrowed brow. Wooyoung saw Seonghwa discreetly place a comforting hand on Yeosang’s elbow, and relaxed. Seonghwa would be a good influence on him, and would help keep his emotions in check.

Would help keep him safe.

With that, he stepped out from the carriage, taking Changbin’s offered hand as he did so. The weather was already cool, and the wind was blowing on top of it, but his veins thrummed with too much nervous energy for him to care. He hadn’t quite expected to get this far, but he’d be damned if he didn’t make the most of it.

Hongjoong and Changbin led him further towards the front of the procession, to his new carriage. He noticed all but two of the guards surrounding the old carriage peeled off to follow them, and smirked. Clearly the Mileans hadn’t realized just how dangerous Yeosang and Seonghwa could be.

He trusted they would use that to their advantage.

“Are you comfortable, Highness?” Hongjoong asked, once Changbin had helped him into the new carriage.

“Very,” Wooyoung replied. The carriage was roofless, and the walls were low, leaving him much more exposed than he’d anticipated. He pushed down his faint sense of unease.

Hongjoong grinned at him. “Then welcome to Bravem, Highness,” he said, and rode forward, calling out to his men to open the gates.

The Physicali stationed along the wall jumped into motion. For a few moments, nothing happened; then, with a deafening creak, the gate in front of them began to move. For some reason, Wooyoung had expected the gate to swing inwards, like a door; he was completely shocked when the Physicali instead levitated it into the air. It was an awesome sight to behold. 

The carriage began to move as the gate drew higher. Wooyoung only just remembered to close his mouth, which had fallen ajar.

“Right,” he muttered to himself, and forced himself to sit up tall.

Changbin, as if sensing his nerves, stole a glance around to make sure no one was watching, and leaned closer. “There’s no need to worry, Highness,” he said, voice low. “The people aren’t angry, just curious, and if anything goes awry, I’m here to keep you safe.”

Wooyoung grinned.

“Seo Changbin, have you fallen for my charms?” he whispered, and patted his hand to assure him he was only teasing when Changbin started spluttering.

Changbin checked around once more to make sure no one was listening in. “You’ll be the death of me someday, Highness, I swear,” he grumbled.

“You should spend more time with Lord Seonghwa,” Wooyoung told him, laughing. “I think you’d get along splendidly.”

Then the carriage began to pull through the gates. The unmistakable sounds of a crowd reached their ears, and they both fell silent. Wooyoung placed a hand on the side of the carriage and used it to steady himself as he stood so that he would be better seen. He felt Changbin’s watchful eyes at his back, and took a deep, steadying breath.

Now or never.

He exhaled, and smiled brightly as they pulled into the midst of one of the biggest crowds he’d ever seen.

It was a well-known fact that Bravem was the biggest city in the Empire. This was probably because it was also the safest, as the capital and residence of the Imperial family. But it was one thing for Wooyoung to hear that its population was thrice that of Neades, and another to see hundreds—if not thousands—of people gathered on either side of the street as he passed through.

The normal rustling of a crowd had begun to rise in pitch as the caravan had begun to pull through the gates, but at the sight of him, it broke out into an outright roar.

Wooyoung stared out across a sea of snow-white faces framed by pitch black hair, their coloring so unfamiliar to him that it seemed almost inhuman. They were all ages, all sizes, all dressed in clothing so dark that it seemed to swallow them up, leaving only their faces visible. Their expressions as they looked up at him, and their voices as they called out to him, held a disorganized mix of nearly every emotion under the sun—disgust, confusion, anger, excitement, curiosity, fear, and hope.

These people, more so than anyone in the Imperial family, would be his judge, jury, and executioner.

He forced the tension to bleed out of his neck and his shoulders, and raised the hand that wasn’t clutching onto the carriage in a white-knuckled grip to wave.

And he smiled.

Rows of soldiers were lined up on either side of the road, as a barrier between him and the people. But that didn’t stop the crowd from surging forward once he started to wave at them. It was impossible to tell the furious apart from the ecstatic, but the soldiers held them at bay regardless. Wooyoung unclenched his teeth, and kept his smile plastered on his face. He glanced ahead, towards their destination.

Bravem had been built at the crest of a hill, and the city around it had grown to sprawl down the hill’s sides over the years. The city’s landscape itself seemed to gravitate towards the castle at its center; all of the buildings and all of the roads slanted towards it. The castle itself rose far above the rest of the city, perched on the peak of the hill at the heart of the city.

Wooyoung had heard many stories about Bravem, and yet none did justice to the picture that it painted: a city culminating in a castle of stark white marble that loomed towards the heavens, completely dwarfing the buildings surrounding it.

It looked every bit as beautiful and cruel as the family it housed was said to be.

The road that they were on lead directly up the hill, towards the castle’s front gates; as Wooyoung gazed down it, it seemed to almost grow in length before his very eyes. As the carriage made its way, he tried to make eye contact with as many of the crowd members, individually, as he could; tried to address people individually even though the procession did not slow or cease. Anyone who smiled back, or waved back, made it easier for him to brighten and widen his own grin; he seized upon their goodwill as much as possible and did his best to ignore others’ fury and fear. And though it did not much matter what he said—the crowd was far too loud for anyone to hear him well—he called out to them anyways as he waved; wishes and prayers for good luck, prosperity, and good health.

He was banking on the hope that people’s curiosity and awe of his rank and of his marriage, despite his origins, would garner him enough approval.

By the time the carriage drew near the castle gates, Wooyoung’s face ached from the force of his smile, and his hands were numb with cold. But he kept waving, and kept smiling, because the crowd had stretched without thinning or breaking from the very base of the city all the way to its center.

The carriage paused as the castle gates rolled open.

Wooyoung turned to one side, to wave at the crowd, and heard a shout come from over his shoulder.

His head turned instinctively, and he saw a small figure dart between the linked arms of the soldiers down on the ground—a small girl, of no more than five or so summers. Her mother, from behind her, called out and reached for her desperately, but the soldiers would not let her past, instead scrambling after the girl with severe expressions on their faces, and—

—and Wooyoung had no desire to see a child killed, Milean or otherwise, for not knowing any better, so he moved without thinking, vaulting over the side of the carriage.

He was vaguely aware of the chaos that erupted around him as he did so, of the sound of Changbin cursing and scrambling after him, but he ignored it. His mind was focused solely on the little girl, whose smile was wide and clueless as she ran towards him, several soldiers close at her heels.

He raced forward, heart in his mouth, and snatched her up just as one of the soldiers reached out to try and grab at her.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he gasped, out of breath from a mixture of exertion and panic, and did his best to smile, dancing away from the guards as they tried once more to reach out to her.

She beamed at him, and reached out to card her fingers through his hair.

“My name’s Ryujin,” she said, without preamble. “Your hair doesn’t have any color; did you lose it?”

Wooyoung turned his back to the guards so they couldn’t reach her, cradling the back of her head protectively. He hummed, grinning cheekily at Ryujin to keep her distracted, and tried to make his way over towards the edge of the crowd.

“I come from a place with a lot of sun,” he told her, doing his best to keep his voice light while he scanned the crowd for her mother. “If you spend your whole life outside like I did, the sun takes all the color away from your hair.”

“Did it hurt?” Ryujin gasped, trusting his words completely.

Wooyoung spotted her mother’s face, pale and drawn with anxiety, and dodged past a soldier to draw near to her.

“No, it didn’t hurt,” he reassured Ryujin, bouncing her to keep her attention off of the soldiers. “It’s a blessing from the sun, and it just feels warm.”

He had darted far away enough from Changbin that when he pressed a kiss to her forehead, he leaned ever-so-slightly into his Gift. Ryujin squealed happily when he sent a pulse of warmth through her along with the kiss.

“Now I’ve given you some of my warmth,” he whispered to her. “It’s our secret, okay? The sun gave it to me, and I’m giving it to you.”

Ryujin nodded vigorously, stars in her eyes, and Wooyoung suppressed a laugh. He’d grown up with his Gift so normalized that he barely thought twice about it, and it was strange to know that in Milea, where Kasa were much rarer, his powers held a quasi-holy significance to the common people. Still, it was incredibly useful; he knew that within a few days Ryujin would have told everyone who would listen about the prince with the pale hair who’d given her a piece of the sun.

He handed the girl back over to her mother, and grasped the woman’s hand firmly when she fell over herself trying to apologize.

“Ryujin is a very kind girl,” he told her, grinning. “You’ve raised her well. My thanks to you.”

When he squeezed her hand, he gave her the same sensation of warmth as he had with Ryujin, and her eyes grew wide with awe.

“Thank you,” Ryujin’s mother breathed, and then the soldiers caught up to Wooyoung, hands landing on his arms with grips tight enough to almost hurt.

Wooyoung was keenly aware of the eyes on him, and had no desire to ruin his first impression by being dragged away into the castle like some sort of prisoner. So he kept his head held high, refusing to sacrifice any of his dignity in the eyes of the public, but allowed himself to be led away from the crowd without a fight.

“Your Highness,” Changbin bit out. “If you so please.”

“Of course,” Wooyoung replied easily, and he stepped back up into the carriage.

They started moving in past the castle walls as soon as Changbin’s feet left the ground; they were clearly trying to get Wooyoung out of view of the public as quickly as possible.

“It’s best if you sit,” Changbin said, and when Wooyoung complied, he put a hand on his arm to hold him in place. His posture was rigid, as if he expected Wooyoung to grow wings and try to fly away at any moment. It made him almost want to laugh. Just because he’d tried to keep a child from being beaten by Imperial soldiers didn’t mean he was stupid enough to try to escape.

“I’ll behave,” he told him. “You don’t have to hold me down.”

“Are you sure about that?” came a voice, and Wooyoung looked up to see Hongjoong staring disdainfully down at him from his horse. “That was quite the stunt you just pulled.”

Wooyoung put on his most innocent face.

“What do you mean?” he asked, widening his eyes. “I was just helping a little girl reunite with her mother. Isn’t it a virtue for a ruler to care for their people?”

They both knew that his so-called ‘stunt’ was about more than just that, but Wooyoung was riding too high on his victory to care. Over time, Ryujin and her mother would spread tales of him and his “warmth” to their friends and to their family, and, little by little, he could hopefully begin to turn the public over towards his side.

Hongjoong’s smile was all teeth.

“I would just hope all of Milea’s subjects are so welcoming, Highness,” he said pointedly. “We wouldn’t want your safety to be at risk.”

“My safety,” replied Wooyoung firmly, “would not even be a question, if you did not insist on blocking my Gift from me.”

Hongjoong’s face darkened as he processed both the threat and the plea, and he spurred his horse onwards without a word. As soon as he broke eye contact, Wooyoung slumped back into his seat slightly, feeling as if he had just come away from a battle. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to find somewhere private where he could let go of the tension he’d been carrying in his body for what felt like weeks.

“They will be more careful of your freedom in the future,” Changbin told him quietly.

He was right, but only partly.

“They might try,” Wooyoung said wearily. “But I will remain here for a very long time, and you cannot treat me like a caged beast forever.”

“Your Highness,” Changbin said, voice hushed but fierce. “They do not think of you that way—”

Wooyoung sighed, resisting the urge to press his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

“I would like some quiet, Changbin,” he said, interrupting him. “Perhaps we can revisit this conversation later, but I am growing tired of the headache that your Gift has bestowed upon me.”

Changbin fell silent. Wooyoung did not need to look over towards him to know that he had been cowed by his words.

Kasa were not designed to be separated from their Gift for so long, and as a Suppressor, Changbin had to be chiefly aware of that fact. Just being around the crowd and using his Gift in the smallest way, things which would never have impacted Wooyoung before, had taken a toll on his energy. His headache usually rested at a low but ever-present level when he was around Changbin or Jisung, but had grown into a throbbing significant enough to make conversation difficult.

The Mileans couldn’t surround him with Suppressors forever.

Not if they wanted to keep him alive.

Changbin did his best to leave him alone after that, but he only got mere minutes’ respite before the carriage was pulling up in front of the entrance to the front hall and slowing to a halt. As he was helped out of the carriage, Wooyoung craned his head to try to look for his reception, but he only saw a row of soldiers—a bit more elaborately dressed than those he’d been traveling with, but soldiers all the same.

A flash of irritation ran along his spine, the anger pooling in his belly. Could the Choi prince really not be bothered to greet his future husband?

He turned his head to ask Changbin. As he opened his mouth to do so, the doors to the castle opened and two figures walked out.

A boy, perhaps a few summers younger than Wooyoung, was the first to step out into the light. He walked forward, dipping into a bow, and Wooyoung couldn’t help but narrow his eyes in confusion. That boy couldn’t be his—

“Prince Jongho,” the boy greeted, his voice cordial but his eyes hard.

Wooyoung sucked in a breath, and it took him a moment to find his words. Well, the boy certainly wasn’t the Crown Prince. Jongho was the only son of his husband-to-be’s elder sister, the Princess Jia.

The _late_ Princess Jia.

He needed to tread carefully around him.

“It is lovely to meet you, Your Highness,” Wooyoung said, looking him square in the eyes and praying that he would understand that his words were genuine. “Though we may have our differences of opinion about the war, I hope that we can both agree that the pain and suffering it caused was reprehensible. I pray that our families can work towards a peaceful future.”

Jongho simply inclined his head, face unreadable, and stepped off to the side. Wooyoung fought back the urge to sigh.

It was, of course, unreasonable to expect someone to forgive the death of a parent so easily. But Wooyoung had been no more responsible for Jia’s death than he had been for any other part of the war, and it stung that he had to spend his time here groveling for forgiveness for decisions that he’d been intentionally left out of.

Then the other figure stepped forward, and Wooyoung’s breath caught in his throat.

Choi San was every bit as beautiful as the stories said, and more. He had jet-black hair and eyes as pale as ice, which bored into Wooyoung so intensely that he caught himself attempting to step backwards. His beauty was a play of opposites: the slim lines of his waist against the broadness of his shoulders, the sharp planes of his face against the fullness of his lips. His face was set, his expression so cold and so sharp that Wooyoung felt as if it were cutting into his own flesh.

As he watched, the Choi prince’s gaze tracked downwards, almost instinctively, to where Wooyoung’s shirt lay open against his chest. His eyes flicked back up to his face, as if he’d caught himself partway through the act.

It would have been impossible for Wooyoung to miss the way his gaze sharpened as it traced the lines of his throat and his collarbones.

_Oh._

Wooyoung had cursed the Mileans the whole way to Bravem for not giving his attendants enough time to prepare a wardrobe appropriate for Bravem’s colder weather. He’d been stuck with traditional Kalian attire, designed for much warmer climates. The silk of his shirt and the way it lay open halfway down his chest had provided barely any protection from the cold, and he’d had to suppress his shivers the entire drive up to the castle, but it was worth it to see the hunger in the Choi prince’s eyes.

It was reassuring, in a sick way, to know that there was at least one thing that he could leverage against him.

Then the Choi prince stepped forward, and Wooyoung’s first thought was that he was going to bow, or possibly take his hand. But he kept moving forward, past the point of propriety, and Wooyoung tensed. He couldn’t read his expression, couldn’t tell if the prince was pleased or if he wanted to make him bleed—oh, but he couldn’t show his fear, so he lifted his chin up and clenched his jaw and—

Choi San paused, nose mere inches from Wooyoung’s, their gazes still locked. Wooyoung didn’t think he could’ve looked away, even if he’d wanted to. The Choi prince’s fingers deftly unclasped the rich crimson cloak that hung around his own shoulders, and he reached over Wooyoung’s head, somehow leaning even _closer_.

Wooyoung froze as the weight of the cloak draped over his shoulders, and as the Choi prince’s nose brushed his cheek.

“Welcome to Bravem, Jung Wooyoung,” he said, voice low. His breath was hot against Wooyoung’s face. “You might want to invest in a cloak.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just submitted my last real project of the school year yesterday, so i was finally able to give this fic the time that i've been wanting to give it for weeks now! updates should be more regular in the future since summer is right around the corner. we're getting a bit of san's pov next chapter, so look forward to it! <3


	5. Chapter Five

Before Wooyoung could truly react to the encroachment of his personal space, the Choi prince pulled back. He struggled to gather himself; it almost felt as if he had fallen one step behind, and he _hated_ it.

“Your General called for my departure with little notice,” he said, a touch defensively. “There was no time to prepare weather appropriate clothes.”

As if he could tell that Wooyoung was flustered, he smiled, and it transformed his face completely.

Wooyoung stared.

He had _dimples_.

But before Wooyoung could comment on it, the intimidating mask fell back into place, and he was offered an arm. Wooyoung took it a moment too late, still struggling to process the fact that the way the Choi prince’s eyes turned up at the corners when he smiled was almost _cute_.

“I’d like to make sure you reach your rooms comfortably,” the Choi prince said politely, and Wooyoung let himself be guided inside, slightly overwhelmed.

Changbin followed a few steps behind them, silent but for the quiet sound of his footfalls.

“I can send over my tailors to begin work on an appropriate wardrobe,” the Choi prince offered.

Wooyoung hesitated.

“Thank you,” he said.

It wasn’t like he’d been able to choose his own clothes very often back at home, either, but it was one thing to have his attendants pick his clothes, and a whole other beast to have the Choi prince’s servants do it for him. It had only been a minute since they’d met each other, and already the Choi prince had marked him with his family’s colors and offered to control his appearance as if it was a _compliment._ It made something turn uncomfortably in Wooyoung’s stomach.

He was given an appraising look, but the Choi prince said nothing, and they fell into silence as they strolled down the hallway. As they walked, the heels of their boots clacked loudly against the bare floors, and the sound echoed off of the ceilings high above their heads.

Wooyoung had to trust the Choi prince to lead him in the right direction, but he was still determined to try to memorize the route himself. He was unlikely to be left alone to fend for himself any time soon, but if he was ever able to get away from his guard, he wanted to be able to find his way around Bravem.

So he kept his eyes peeled as they walked, and tried to commit their path to memory. It didn’t help that it was almost impossible to tell different parts of the castle apart.

If its marble made Bravem look stark from a distance, the effect was only magnified up close. The hallways were too wide, the ceilings too high, and the windows too large—everything seemed like too much and not enough, all at once. Neades had been full of color, the floors covered with lush velvet and the walls lined with sweeping tapestries woven of gold and silk threads. But Bravem was white and minimal; the only decorations in its halls consisted of the silver-lined engravings etched into the walls and ceilings. Neades had been built by Kasa, but the incredible craftsmanship of Bravem was all but devoid of their influence. Bravem was just as much a display of power as Neades had been, but here, the Empire’s might was displayed through a statement as bold and barren as the landscape upon which Bravem had been built.

Wooyoung knew, logically, that it was too early to pass judgment on what would be his residence, likely for the rest of his life. But though Bravem was achingly beautiful, it was an arid sort of beauty.

He hated it.

“When will I be meeting the Emperor and Empress?” he asked, because he felt faintly as if the silence was pressing in on him with a physical weight.

“They are quite busy with arrangements right now,” the Choi prince said smoothly, as if he’d been expecting the question. Perhaps he had. “But they are eager to meet you, and our kitchen staff have begun preparations for a feast tonight, to welcome your and your delegation’s arrival in Bravem. You will have a chance to speak with them there.”

Wooyoung fought back a sigh. He’d been doing little more than riding in a carriage and sleeping for an entire fortnight. He was exhausted, and exhaustion made him irritable, and the last thing he wanted to do was have to pull himself together for what was sure to be an hours-long affair.

As if he’d noticed this, the Choi prince smiled. “You’ll get a chance to rest before dinner,” he said soothingly. “And we’ll be arriving at your chambers shortly.”

It would have been impossibly impolite to do so, but Wooyoung had the strong desire to squint suspiciously at him. Surely, he wouldn’t be trying to use his Gift on him, not when they had just met and when he hadn’t given permission. To do so would be incredibly rude; not just because Wooyoung was a prince, but because he was a Kasa. There was a certain level of respect that Kasa, especially those who were most feared, had for each other. So far, he’d forced himself to keep up hope that being a Reaper would be enough to warrant at least a little respect in the Choi prince’s eyes. He wished even more fervently that his hopes wouldn’t be dashed so soon after his arrival.

It could have been just a coincidence.

They fell back into a slightly more bearable silence, as they ascended a flight of stairs and traveled further east. Wooyoung suspected that he’d been assigned to the castle’s guest wing in the interim period between now and—

And the wedding.

“Here we are,” the Choi prince announced, pulling them to a stop and breaking Wooyoung out of the spiral of anxiety that he’d been about to fall down. He nodded his head at the two guards stationed on either side of the door, and they soundlessly pulled it open to allow them to enter.

Wooyoung carefully extracted his arm from the Choi prince’s, taking care not to seem overly eager to be rid of him.

“Thank you for showing me the way,” he said, keeping his voice level. “I look forward to speaking with you again tonight.”

The Choi prince inclined his head. He made as if to turn around, and then paused.

“I’d encourage you to use my name, up here,” he said lightly, and his finger reached between them to tap lightly at Wooyoung’s temple.

Wooyoung flinched at the touch, and could _feel_ the blood as it drained from his face.

“Mental habits can often slip into speech,” he continued, and his smile no longer reached his eyes. “If you were to let slip that you think of me as ‘the Choi prince,’ you might give off an impression that is… _undesirable.”_

Then, before Wooyoung could snap himself out of his mortified silence—to apologize, to give an excuse, to explain anything at all—he turned on his heel and stalked out the door. It slammed shut behind him, and Wooyoung was left standing there, with his heart fluttering around frantically inside his chest.

“Hello!”

Wooyoung whirled around, instinctively reaching for his Gift—

Only it resisted him, tugging briefly like a string pulled taut before slipping away, leaving him staring blankly at the man standing in front of him. All he had for his efforts was a hammering pulse and the pang of a worsening headache.

“Didn’t mean to startle you, Highness,” the man said, and he bowed smoothly. Before Wooyoung could acknowledge him, he straightened up again so quickly that his hair briefly flopped back from his forehead.

His pale hair.

“It’s quite alright,” Wooyoung said absentmindedly, peering curiously at the stranger’s face. His skin _did_ seem a little darker than usual for Bravem, even if he was still a fair deal lighter than Wooyoung, and his blond hair stood out glaringly compared to everyone else—

“Lord Jung Yunho,” the man chirped.

Wooyoung jolted when he heard his last name.

“Are you—?” he began.

“We’re related!” the man nodded enthusiastically. “Only very distantly, but my mother was Lady Jung Namjoo, if you’ve heard of her?”

“I—yes,” Wooyoung stammered, even if he’d only barely recognized the name.

It felt a little bit like he was suffering from whiplash. For so many days, with the exception of Seonghwa and Yeosang, he’d been completely surrounded by Mileans. Hongjoong had kept him from being able to see any of his people when they’d been traveling near the border between Kali and the Empire. Wooyoung had not held out much hope for running into anyone from his homeland this far north, and _especially_ not in the heart of the Empire and residence of the Imperial family.

And Yunho had introduced himself as a Lord; but he could not have been if his mother was his only noble ancestry. Wooyoung was pretty sure he would’ve known beforehand if the Empire had adopted some sort of policy allowing bastard children of foreign courts to hold a title. What lands could he even claim to have?

Most importantly, how had the bastard son of a Kalian noble survived the war on the wrong side of the border?

“I’m so excited that you’re here,” Yunho gushed, and he certainly seemed to be practically vibrating with happiness. “I’ve been the only Kalian in Bravem for so long, and now you’re here!”

“Yes, well,” Wooyoung said, still a bit disoriented, “the Lords Seonghwa and Youngsoo have also joined me, as representatives of the King.”

“I heard!” Yunho beamed. “I’ll get to meet them later, but I was especially excited to talk to you!”

His fingers twitched slightly at his sides as he spoke. If Wooyoung hadn’t known better, and if Yunho hadn’t been a noble, he would’ve almost suspected him of wanting to hug him. At this point, it wouldn’t have been the strangest thing to happen to Wooyoung since he’d arrived in Bravem, so he took the tiniest of steps back to put himself a bit further out of reach. It was better safe than squished by an embrace that would have been wholly inappropriate, given their rankings.

“Lord Yunho,” Wooyoung began.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m here,” Yunho nodded, interrupting him _again_. “San asked me to help you settle into life here, because some of the customs here are pretty different from back in Neades.”

That wasn’t what Wooyoung had been planning on asking, but the mere mention of his hometown robbed him of his breath _._ He was thoroughly distracted from his original questions about how on earth Yunho’s existence, which was a myriad of contradictions in and of itself, was tolerated in Bravem. He hadn’t expected to be able to connect with anyone in Bravem this way—but the fondness in the way Yunho had said his hometown’s name had to mean that he’d lived there, at least for a time. For a long while, Wooyoung had resigned himself bitterly to the fact that the only people here who would know what his home even looked like were the soldiers and officers who had broken down its walls in the Empire’s name.

“You’ve been?” he asked, doing his best to keep his voice light.

It cracked slightly, despite his efforts.

Yunho’s eyes softened, and this time he did reach out, and Wooyoung should have been indignant as he was pulled into an embrace as if they hadn’t just met minutes ago. But thinking of his castle and his city made his heart _ache_ , and there was no one here to see them, and Yunho’s face had been so terribly kind—

“I grew up there,” Yunho said quietly, resting his chin gently on the top of Wooyoung’s head, and Wooyoung’s breath hitched because no one had held him this way since he’d been old enough to read. “When I was twelve, my father died, and my mother remarried into the Bravem court, so I had to move away. And then I couldn’t go back to visit, because…”

He didn’t finish, but he didn’t have to. It would have been suicidal to try to cross the borders while the war was going on.

“How can you cope with missing it so badly?” Wooyoung whispered.

Yunho pulled back, but kept his hands on Wooyoung’s arms. His smile was gone, but his expression was still kind, if a little rueful.

“It is possible to have more than one home, Highness,” he said softly. “I had to learn to treasure Neades as the home of my childhood, and to accept Bravem as my home in the present. I know the two are very different, but Bravem is beautiful in its own way, and I think you might be able to come to appreciate the freedom that life here can offer you.”

Wooyoung knew, logically, that it would do him well to try to take Yunho’s advice. But it was hard to think of the harsh, unfamiliar castle, and the people it housed, and to think of ever calling it _home._ And it was near impossible to think of things like _freedom_ when he had been brought here as a glorified hostage, to be kept away in exchange for his subject’s surrender.

But in these past few minutes, Yunho had treated him with a warmth and a kindness that Wooyoung had feared he’d never feel in Bravem. So he thanked him, even if he didn’t know how he could ever take his advice and mean it.

He still had one question.

“You called the Crown Prince by his name earlier,” he said curiously. “Are you two close?”

Yunho’s brow smoothed out into a look of understanding, and he laughed.

“I wouldn’t say we’re best friends, but we spent a lot of time together after I moved here,” he explained. “And in Bravem—if you’re given permission—it’s perfectly acceptable to drop titles in casual conversation.”

Wooyoung had personally loathed using the long and complicated titles that Neades had demanded from him, but he’d also been trained for so long to view them as necessary that even the thought of dropping titles made him feel off-kilter. It was as if Yunho had just told him the Mileans were perfectly fine with him strolling around barefoot.

Still, it made a stupid amount of sense when compared with the behavior he’d seen from them so far. Hongjoong had only bothered to use titles about half the time whenever he’d spoken to Wooyoung, and he was pretty sure San hadn’t used his titles even once when addressing him.

He felt a little silly for having felt so slighted for it, if the disrespect was likely unintentional.

“…I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, slowly. Then, brows furrowed: “How does a Kalian child, even one at court, fall into the company of the Crown Prince?”

“Oh, Hongjoong and I go way back,” Yunho said casually. “And he and San spent a lot of their childhood together, so it just kind of happened. You’ve probably met Joongie before, right?”

No, Wooyoung had certainly not met a _Joongie_.

He had met General Kim Hongjoong of the Milean Empire, when he’d battered down the doors of Wooyoung’s home and demanded his family’s surrender.

“Yes,” Wooyoung gritted out. “We’ve been…acquainted.”

Yunho laughed again. It was strange to meet someone who laughed so much, even when nothing funny had been said.

“Hongjoong takes his responsibilities very seriously,” he said, as if he were discussing Hongjoong’s commitment to a hobby rather than systematically forcing an entire kingdom’s worth of people into submission. “But even though he can be really strict, he’s also kind.”

“He hasn’t been unnecessarily cruel,” Wooyoung acquiesced, in a desperate effort not to disagree with him. “Though he seems to enjoy poking at sore wounds.”

Yunho clapped him on the shoulder reassuringly.

“He’s protective of his friends, Sannie included,” he said cheerfully, once more talking about Hongjoong as if he weren’t the most feared military leader in Kali, and San as if he weren’t the future ruler of the Milean Empire. “Since he agreed to the marriage on the Empire’s behalf, he’d feel responsible if San ended up miserable.”

Well, it was good to know that he had to worry about the wrath of more than one man if he wasn’t able to keep San happy.

But being snippy wouldn’t serve him in the long run, as cathartic as it would be to scream at Yunho until he stopped acting like the divide between Kali and Milea could be so casually mended.

“He does seem to care for the Crown Prince quite a bit,” Wooyoung said.

Yunho’s smile widened, if that was possible.

“So he’s told you? That’s a good sign, that means he approves of you!” he enthused.

_Only until someone brings up the Princess Jia,_ he wanted to say.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said, and he forced a smile, though it felt dim in comparison to Yunho’s.

“I want to leave you with some time to rest before tonight,” Yunho said, switching topics. “But you’ll see me again! San asked me to sit next to you tonight in case you’re confused about anything.”

“Then I’ll look forward to speaking with you again soon,” Wooyoung said, and gave him the closest thing to a genuine smile that he’d been able to muster in days.

Yunho bowed and shut the door on his way out, and Wooyoung was left alone for the first time in weeks. He could feel the heavy weight of Changbin’s Gift, which meant he must be standing outside the door, but he was _alone._

At any other time, he would’ve taken a moment to savor his privacy. But he was too tired, and the thought of crashing into bed was too tempting, for him to do anything but strip away his travel clothes and all but fall forward onto the mattress. In a few hours, he’d have to put his mask back on and walk out into the snake pit that was the court of Bravem for the first time.

But at that moment, all of it fell away from his mind, and he was asleep almost instantly.

* * *

One week before Kim Hongjoong and his army had stormed the castle of Neades, the Emperor and Empress of Milea had called San to dinner. They had plied him with a five-course meal and pleasant small talk and spiced wine, had lulled him into a sense of complacency. By the end of the meal, they’d been laughing around the table, and the alcohol had been buzzing through San’s veins, and he’d felt _light_ in a way that he hadn’t since before the war.

Then his father had brought up the postwar period, and San had frozen.

At the time, they had expected to take Neades easily. San had known that his parents and Hongjoong had planned extensively for what would come after, and that he hadn’t been privy to every last detail of those plans. But at those words, he’d realized there had been an ulterior motive to this family dinner, and a cold trickle of unease had traced its way down his spine.

His father’s face had been impassive as he’d taken a sip of wine and told San, almost _casually_ , that Hongjoong was expected to return with a Kalian prince.

And that when he did, San would be expected to marry him.

San prided himself on being a dutiful son. He grew up seeing firsthand the care and effort his parents put into ruling, and had always trusted and respected their decisions. The weight of the Empire’s future had always weighed heavily on his shoulders, and even though his parents had never asked it of him, he’d made a concentrated effort since his childhood to be as mature and level-headed as possible. 

But at his father’s words, he had shot to his feet, fists clenched. He had demanded how his father could arrange such a thing, knowing how much animosity he and the prince would hold towards each other—knowing how turbulent the relationship between their peoples already was. He had even gone so far as to raise his voice, though the effect had been slightly lost when it had cracked as he had asked how they could do this to him _behind his back_ , as if he weren’t the heir to the Empire, as if his voice had no meaning or weight even when the matter being decided impacted him _the most_ —

The Emperor had waited San’s rage out with complete serenity, and had asked him to take a seat.

San had sat back down, still seething, and they had explained the popular advantage the wedding would give them. Though the Empire had beaten Kali through its sheer military might, the period immediately following the storming of Neades had been expected to be particularly turbulent. The Kalian people had built up a notorious hatred for the Empire and its people throughout the course of the war, particularly in the last few years. Any peace would have been dangerously fragile without their support, and any riots or protests could have very well prolonged the war for additional years.

The Empire had seen its fair share of losses during the war—San and his family knew that all-too well—and dragging out the war longer would have been devastating for their subjects, who had already suffered greatly at the hands of the Kalian military and their Kasa.

So the support of the Kalian people had presented the last major obstacle between them and peace. And the youngest Kalian prince was apparently very well-loved by his people.

The connection had been clear, and it had made _sense,_ and San had hated it.

But his parents had been unable to give him a reasonable enough excuse for excluding him from the decision-making process. With time, San had calmed down enough to accept their decision, but he had yet to forgive them for how they had made it.

The idea of the wedding hadn’t fully solidified itself in San’s mind, not until Hongjoong had sent word that Kali had accepted their terms. It had been impossible to ignore the reality of what was happening when the Kalian delegation—and with it, his future _husband_ —had begun the journey to Bravem.

San would never have admitted it aloud, but he had irrationally wished for some natural disaster to rid them of the Kalian prince before he could have had the chance to reach his destination.

It had been nothing personal. San had been sure that the Kalian prince would be just as enthusiastic at the idea of the marriage as San had been—that is to say, not at all. San hadn’t had to meet the prince to know that they wouldn’t get along. They’d been on opposite sides of the war, after all. And, in some way, he’d resented the prince; he hadn’t seen battle the way San had, hadn’t lost people to the war the way San had. He’d been able to hide away in his ivory tower at Neades while his people had bled and died for him. San had sneered at the mere idea of having to entertain a pampered, spoiled prince.

He had been utterly unprepared for the reality of meeting him.

Jung Wooyoung was dangerously, sinfully pretty. He was pretty like the shards of ice that hung from the roofs of Bravem in the winter, bright and glimmering and _sharp._ His hair was as pale as the sun when it shone off of snow; his eyes were as light as the frozen lakes flanking the castle. His mouth formed a perfect rosebud pout, but his gaze looked like it could cut through steel, and his jaw seemed to have been chiseled from stone by skilled Kasa fingers. Through his scandalously low-cut shirt, his skin glowed golden with the blessings of a faraway sun, flushed with a warmth and a color that San had never seen in all of his twenty years.

He _knew_ he was pretty in a way that raised alarms in San’s head, in a way that put him on guard and made his mind say:

Be careful with this one.

He could undo you, and he’d take pleasure in doing it.

Then San’s eyes had lingered just a moment too long on the lines of Wooyoung’s throat and on the dips of his collarbones. Though he had forced his eyes back upwards as quickly as he could, the slight gleam in Wooyoung’s eyes had proven that he’d been caught.

But San had never been one to remain at a disadvantage for long.

It had been all too easy to give in to the temptation to pry past Wooyoung’s fake smile into what lay beneath. He’d eased his way ever-so delicately into his thoughts, slowly and gently enough to keep him unaware.

Infuriatingly, it had only made San almost want to _like_ him.

Wooyoung had kept himself carefully composed, the utter picture of grace; but his thoughts had betrayed a roiling mixture of frustration and anger and hope and _fear_ even as he’d kept his face carefully neutral. He was far from docile, no matter how reserved he tried to appear.

That made him more dangerous—his tendency to refer to San so curtly in his head could easily get him into trouble at court, and his clear prejudices would likely make their relationship every bit as volatile as San had feared.

But it also made him much more interesting.

San could appreciate someone in possession of both intelligence and a backbone—he greatly preferred it to someone meek and cowering, even if it meant he had to tread a bit more carefully. Wooyoung had bent his head upon greeting them, but he’d also met San’s gaze without hesitation. He’d curled his lips into a smile and had addressed him demurely, but he’d cursed San’s actions loudly within his head. He’d had a clear sense of what he did and didn’t like, even if he’d been unable to voice it.

And he was cunning and calculating in a way that would serve him well in Bravem. He’d had a distinct air of satisfaction about him when he’d noticed San’s reaction to his appearance—had thought clearly to himself that it could be used to his favor.

But San wasn’t about to give Wooyoung any leverage over him that he couldn’t counter with his own. He knew that he was considered beautiful in his own right; so he’d pressed forward, well beyond what would have been considered appropriate, encroaching far into Wooyoung’s personal space. And, just as he’d expected, Wooyoung’s breath had quickened and his mind had gone blank.

San’s lips had curled into a smirk, even as he’d pulled away. Wooyoung might have had leverage over him, but in that moment, San had known that he would be able to give as good as he got.

Still, there was much about Wooyoung that he wasn’t privy to; their time together had lasted for mere minutes before he’d handed him off to Yunho. But now that they’d finally met, it was hard to go about his day, when he knew that Wooyoung was _here_ and only a short walk away from him at all times. He was going to have to give it time, but he’d been anticipating this for weeks and weeks, and the waiting was killing him.

“Yunho says he’s really pretty,” came a voice.

San turned to face its owner with a quirked brow.

“What?” Mingi shrugged unapologetically. He was sprawled across San’s bed as if he owned the place, with his feet dangling off of the side. “I’m just telling you what he told me.”

“I know he’s pretty,” San said, rolling his eyes. “I’ve met him too, remember?”

“Literally _all_ of you have met him except for me,” Mingi whined, rolling over onto his back dramatically. “How is that fair?”

San walked over from where he’d been reading to smack his stomach. “You’re literally going to meet him in a few hours,” he chided, talking over Mingi’s loud protests. “Calm down.”

Mingi quieted quickly— _too_ quickly—and narrowed his eyes at San.

Shit.

A suddenly serious Mingi was usually one who’d decided to stop beating around the bush and confront San about something that he thought San needed to fix.

“Yunho also said he’s sad,” he said. “Really sad.”

San sighed, and sat down next to Mingi on the bed.

It wasn’t exactly a surprise; he’d expected that the struggles of leaving behind his home and family had been hard on Wooyoung. Combine that with the lingering prejudices and tensions from the war, and it was sure to be an incredibly difficult transition. Plus, he suspected that, like himself, Wooyoung had had little choice in the matter.

But San was also self-aware, and he had a suspicion that attempting to ply Wooyoung with promises of empathy and understanding would only serve to widen the rift between them. They barely knew each other, and had no reason to believe each other to be genuine. And judging from Wooyoung’s internal opinion of him—which was quite low—any attempts on his part to reach out would only serve to anger him further. Wooyoung was already dangerous enough, a wild card that had walked straight into the heart of San’s home and his people, and San wasn’t about to anger him when he didn’t yet trust him to not stab him in the back.

“It’s not that I want him to be sad,” he said, a hint of frustration entering his tone. “But I don’t really trust him right now, and he certainly doesn’t trust me either. He doesn’t need or want my compassion right now.”

“Maybe not, but it would set a precedent of caring about each other that I think could help you in the long run,” Mingi insisted.

San shook his head.

“I’ve read him, Mingi, and you’d do well to remember that he’s not just a sad, pretty boy; he’s a prince of the kingdom that started this whole goddamned war, and he has his own agenda. He’s more dangerous than he tries to appear. He doesn’t trust me, but I’m not sure that I trust him, either.”

Mingi’s lips thinned as he spoke, but Mingi had always been a bit more neutral in the war—Yunho’s influence, San had always said—and he’d always been one to see the best in people, even when it didn’t exist. It had nearly gotten him into trouble dozens of times, because not everyone was as good of a person as he tried to make them out to be, but he’d always insisted that it had been worth it.

But San was playing with the stability and peace of the entire Milean Empire, of all of his war-torn subjects, and Kali’s, too. He couldn’t afford to think of Wooyoung as being anything aside from what he knew him to be. And he knew him to be a powerful Kasa, and the prince of the kingdom that had nearly brought his Empire to ruin and had cost him his sister. And he knew him to be far more dangerous than he appeared.

He couldn’t afford to give Wooyoung the benefit of the doubt, only to have it come around to bite him in the ass.

“Come on, Mingi,” he said tiredly, patting his shoulder and standing up to signal that their conversation was over. “We have a feast to attend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so all of ateez has been officially introduced now, and we finally get to hear from san!! what do y'all think of him so far?


	6. Update & Plot Information

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry to announce that I won't be finishing this work. This chapter has extensive notes for how the rest of the story was planned to go, and hopefully can answer many of your questions about the main plot arcs and how they would've been resolved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time officially abandoning a work, but I've been getting comments asking when/if I'll be updating and it feels wrong to just let it sit here. Don't get me wrong, I still love ATEEZ, but I'm not as deep into the fandom as I used to be, and I figure that if I've had writer's block for six months it won't be getting any better. I'm putting my efforts for now into my ATLA fic, which I still have motivation for. I'm sorry for not being able to commit to the end of this fic!
> 
> I know how heartbroken I've been to find out that a fic I love has been discontinued, and what it's like to think that I'll never know what was going to happen to the characters. To try to make this easier for you all, I wanted to share all of my remaining notes for this fic, and answer all of your questions about what would've happened to Wooyoung and San and everyone. The notes in this chapter cover the main events and arcs through what would've been the end of the story. Please feel free to leave a comment if you're confused, or have any more questions; I'll be sure to answer all of them. I hope you're all doing well, and happy holidays!

**_Pre-wedding setup_ **

_ Wooyoung meets the Emperor and Empress at the feast to celebrate his arrival, and asks to begin charity work in Lower Bravem. San is skeptical and insists on joining him, and they spend time with orphaned children in Lower Bravem together. Wooyoung is affectionate with San to protect their image, which San confronts him about and Wooyoung defends (here’s where he calls him “Sannie”). _

**Wooyoung and San’s wedding night**

_ Wooyoung and San are married in a series of two wedding celebrations. The first is Milean, following their polytheistic tradition, and the second is Kalian, following their monotheistic tradition. Though he and San have become closer, when it’s time for their wedding night Wooyoung tries to initiate to deter San from being violent with him. San reads him and recoils in horror, yells at him for assuming so lowly of him. Wooyoung yells back, letting out his fears and stresses, and San replies that he’s not the only one forced into this. They fall into an uneasy truce, but San is now warier with Wooyoung than before, and Wooyoung starts to feel badly for assuming the worst of him. _

  * Wooyoung has been terrified for their wedding night for a while
  * He tries to force himself to kiss San, who at first kisses him back
  * Then he feels San read Wooyoung’s mind and San recoils, shoving him away
  * He is repulsed that Wooyoung thought he would rape him and starts to shout at him
  * Wooyoung finally breaks and shouts back at him about how all he can do is try to keep from making San angry, secretly terrified that he can’t do anything right
  * San stops and looks at him strangely and asks if he thinks San would hurt him
  * Wooyoung says nothing, too scared to do something wrong, and San deflates and sighs, running a hand over his face
  * San tells Wooyoung that he has no desire to punish him for his family’s actions and that he would never hurt him or force him in that way
  * Wooyoung counters that they’re at a power imbalance because San can read his mind at will, while Wooyoung’s suppressed and can’t tell if he’s lying
  * San curiously asks how Wooyoung would be able to tell, and he bitterly tells him that things like sweat and heart rate and pupil dilation give people away, but that the long-term suppression has taken its toll on him and he doesn’t think he can manage it
  * San quiets and says the suppression thing hasn’t sat right with him and that he’s not sure how to get Wooyoung to trust him
  * He then asks if he can try something and Wooyoung says it depends on what it is. He puts Wooyoung’s hand on his bare chest and on the inside of his wrist, and looks into his eyes, and asks if he can tell now
  * Wooyoung is holding his breath, but he tries his best, and San tells him “I don’t want to hurt you” and “I won’t hurt you” and it makes his headache worse but San is telling the truth
  * He lets go numbly, shocked, and stares at San with wide eyes, who is looking back at him with a sad smile
  * Slowly, giving him a chance to move away, San reaches out and takes his face into his hands. Wooyoung lets him, and he leans in, and Wooyoung closes his eyes, and San presses the most delicate of kisses to his forehead
  * It’s so unexpected- so unexpected is all of this- that Wooyoung feels tears start to stream down his face. He dimly registers that it’s the first time he’s cried since before Kali’s surrender.
  * San doesn’t try to hug him, which he appreciates, and they simply go to sleep



**Post-wedding reconciliation**

_ San is distant for the next day, and Wooyoung works up the courage to talk to him two days after their wedding. They lay out a more solid truce, acknowledging their differences in opinion about the war and how it ended but agreeing to work together to try to make this bearable. Wooyoung apologizes for trying to manipulate San with sex, and San apologizes for reading Wooyoung’s mind without his consent. They tell each other about anything that’s been bothering them: San says he wishes Wooyoung would make more of an effort to be civil with him, and Wooyoung says he is tired of having his Gift suppressed. Over the next few weeks, they begin to settle into their lives a bit more, and eat a meal together every day.  _

  * Hongjoong had let slip to San that Wooyoung was interested in the snow
  * He comes to Wooyoung early one morning and seems really excited and whisks him away, telling him it’s a surprise and to close his eyes
  * His smile and his dimples dazzle Wooyoung and he finds himself agreeing without even thinking about it, almost breathless
  * San covers his eyes with a hand and whisks him through the corridors and eventually outside, and Wooyoung’s hand on his arm tightens at the cold
  * He feels tiny pinpricks of cold on his face and on his hands (snow)
  * San tells him to open his eyes, and he sees tiny flakes of ice floating not falling from the clouds around them, piled up and covering the ground like a carpet made of clouds
  * He stares around, wide eyes, cold completely forgotten, absolutely mesmerized
  * Then he looks over at San, whose head is thrown back and whose eyes are close and whose smile is brilliant as he soaks in the snow the way Wooyoung used to soak in the sun back in Kali
  * “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he asks, and Wooyoung breathes a yes but isn’t sure which one he’s talking about
  * Then San opens his eyes and tugs him forward through the gardens, and he marvels in the way it almost feels like walking through sand, and the crunches beneath his feet
  * Then San shoves snow down Wooyoung’s shirt, a mischievous grin on his face, and Wooyoung _shrieks_ and San looks delighted
  * Wooyoung splutters and gasps, feeling a smile form on his face without his permission, and then abandons propriety and attacks him back
  * They end up playfighting, and Wooyoung’s fighting style is graceful, but reckless and daring and uncontained, just as San’s style is careful explosions of power
  * Wooyoung is used to being completely attuned with his body and with other’s, can recognize the tells that no one else would, and cheats just slightly to sense the tightening of muscles in San’s right leg to prove his feint
  * He catches him in the feint and sweeps his leg out from under him, and then shoves his face into a snowbank while cackling triumphantly
  * San reaches behind him to throw snow in Wooyoung’s eyes, and Wooyoung laughs freely through his blindness as San flips them over
  * Wooyoung’s smiling harder than he has in weeks, and San’s dimple is out in full force, and they’re both panting and laughing and so close that their noses are almost touching and Wooyoung’s hand has somehow come to rest against San’s shoulder and at the realization Wooyoung quiets, and San does too, and they’re just looking at each other
  * San’s eyes flick down to his mouth, so briefly that it’s as if he caught himself and tried to stop it, and Wooyoung can’t tell whether the frantic heartbeat is coming from him or from San or both
  * Then San sits up abruptly, extending a hand to him and saying they should get inside. Wooyoung takes it on instinct, letting himself be pulled up and letting San begin to lead him inside
  * He only then realizes that he’d been in the act of leaning in to kiss San before San had pulled away
  * Instead of taking him back to his chambers, San instead leads him down a spiraling staircase. They slip past guards and bustling servants, who greet them with smiles and nods but don’t make a big deal out of their presence the way they would have in Neades, which Wooyoung marvels at
  * He takes Wooyoung to the kitchens, which is massive and resonates with the smell of freshly baked bread, and shows that he’s had the head cook prepare two mugs of steaming milk with honey for them
  * He holds one mug out to Wooyoung, his eyes bright with cold and cheeks and nose flushed red, and Wooyoung takes it in a daze
  * San walks him back to the library in time for him to meet with Yunho (for one of several sessions about adapting to Bravem’s court culture as a Kalian)
  * Right before he leaves him, San sobers and says earnestly that he knows Wooyoung would probably rather be anywhere but here, but that he loves Bravem and that he hopes Wooyoung can find things about it to love, too
  * Wooyoung’s breath hitches in his chest, and he squeezes his mug tighter and gives him a small smile and says softly that he thinks he shall. He leans in, and this time San doesn’t pull away, and presses his lips to San’s cheek. San grins at him and takes his leave, and Yunho doesn’t comment on it but Wooyoung sees him hide a small smile
  * Later, Wooyoung visits Hongjoong’s office in the west wing of the palace; Hongjoong doesn’t appear surprised to see him, but still inquires as to what brings him here. Wooyoung raises and eyebrow and tells him that San just took him to see the snow, and thanks him. Hongjoong again isn’t surprised but gives him a cheeky smile and tells him he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Wooyoung actually laughs and thanks him nonetheless, and leaves.



**Assassination attempt**

_ That night, while San is away discussing matters related to reports of the enhancing drug with his father, assassins attack Wooyoung, who fights them off but is injured. He would have been able to easily stop them if it hadn’t been for Changbin Suppressing his abilities. San has a public fight with his father about putting Wooyoung in danger by having him Suppressed. _

  * San is at a meeting that runs late, and Wooyoung waits up for him but eventually goes to bed
  * There are never guards stationed inside their room, only outside the doors and on the balconies above and below their windows
  * Two assassins come in through the windows while Wooyoung is asleep. One exits the room and engages with the guards (including Changbin) outside to prevent them from entering the room, while Wooyoung wakes up to the other slashing down at him with a knife
  * He barely manages to get his hand up in time to knock it to the side, and then the assassin drags him over the edge of the bed onto the floor in a heap of sheets and blankets. He has no idea if it will work, but he screams for San as loudly as he can both verbally and mentally
  * He tries to stand and untangles his legs in time to throw a pillow at the assassin and sprint for the door
  * Before he gets there, the assassin seizes his arm and tries to drag him in, but Wooyoung knees him in the groin and stabs at his eyes with his fingers when he falls back
  * He manages to gouge one of the assassin’s eyes out, and he roars in pain and fury and leaps forward and stabs Wooyoung in the side
  * Wooyoung cries out when he yanks it out and tries to stab him again, but manages to fall back out of the way of the second swipe. He uses every last little bit of energy within him to fight the suppression enough to swipe away the assassin’s vision, leaving him blind
  * He holds his breath and controls his whimpers as the assassin growls and lunges forward, and manages to get behind him to wrest the knife from his hand just as his Gift fails and the assassin’s vision is restored
  * He hears a bang from over behind him, but can’t waste the opportunity and yanks the knife across the assassin’s throat, whirling around with blood sprayed on his face and leaking from his side and a knife in his hand to see San, whose face is a twisted combination of terror and fury and whose teeth are bared in a snarl that drops in horror as soon as he registers the assassin and Wooyoung
  * Wooyoung is speechless, high on adrenaline, and stares at him with wide eyes as he races forward to hold him, and his legs crumple beneath him and he falls into San’s arms
  * San picks him up and carries him into the hallway, screaming for help and looking around wildly, like a man possessed. Changbin and Wooyoung’s usual guard are panicked at the sight of them and among the commotion Wooyoung claws at San’s face until he looks at him and hisses at him to _make Changbin fucking stop or else he’s going to die_
  * Realization dawns in San’s eyes and his head jerks up; he yells at Changbin to stand down, and Changbin is frightened but says he can’t; San screams at him why, and he says he’s under direct orders from the Emperor
  * San growls and Wooyoung doesn’t see what happens but he hears the guards shout and _relief_ washes over him as his gift returns to him in full force for the first time in _ages_
  * The rush of energy is so heady that he feels his flesh knit back together almost without him having to will it, can feel the flush in his cheeks and strong pulsing of his heart and the burst of energy and _health_ that rushes through him
  * San is staring at him in awe, and he tugs at his sleeve to let him stand and looks down at Changbin, who is lying prone on the ground. He asks if San did that, feeling slightly betrayed because he had come to consider Changbin a friend and it was harsh to have his loyalty tested in such a way. San says yes. He asks if Changbin will recover. San says he thinks so.
  * He can see San’s hands shaking, in anger or fear or both, and cups his face to make him look at him. He tells him to see how he is with his Gift, to read his mind to see that he is only now _whole_ for the first time since before they had ever met, that it is not something that can be taken away forever, that San will love all of him or have none of him at all. He knows San believes him, but he needs him to _understand._
  * And he feels San brush his mind, sees San’s expression harden with resolve, and he grabs Wooyoung’s bloodied hand and starts to march through the castle, the rest of the guards following behind them with a shout. Different courtiers, servants, and guards poke their heads out as they storm through the castle towards the emperor’s quarters. San marches straight through the Emperor’s personal guard, who are so stunned that they let him, and pounds on the door so forcefully it looks almost as if it might break.
  * The Emperor and Empress, clearly freshly awoken, answer the door, looking shocked at Wooyoung and San’s states. San confronts the Emperor about his order to let Wooyoung die rather than risk him using his Gift, and screams at him when the Emperor does not deny it. He is furious and demands that the Suppressors be let go.
  * The Emperor, keenly aware of the others in the hall listening to them, agrees to let the Suppressors go for the rest of the night, hissing at San to think of where he is, and that they’ll revisit the subject tomorrow. San tells him that they’ll talk tomorrow, and the day after, and every day after that until he dismisses the Suppressors permanently.
  * He whirls around and starts to leave, but Wooyoung tugs at his hand and speaks to the Emperor directly. He speaks softly, but firmly, and says that he wonders why the Emperor thought he would be able to do this and have San stand idly by, given that San knows the prejudice that dangerous Kasa face and the pain of being suppressed more keenly than the Emperor or the Empress could dare imagine. It is easy for them to sentence Wooyoung to this fate, as they cannot imagine what it is like, but they should have known that San could not allow it in the long run. Then, with that victory, he lets San lead them away.
  * They don’t return to their chambers, and instead are set up in the rooms where Wooyoung resided in the days leading up to the wedding. As soon as they are alone, San starts fussing over Wooyoung, insisting on washing his blood away and ensuring that he is uninjured himself.
  * Wooyoung tries to tell him that because of his Gift he’d know if he had any other injuries, but San’s hands are shaking and he won’t look him in the eye and Wooyoung thinks of how San heard him from across an entire castle and woke up the Emperor of Milea in the middle of the night to fight for him and comes to the earth-shattering realization that San _cares for him_ and might even _love him_
  * He cups San’s face in his hands and San looks up at him frantically, still trying to make sure he’s okay, and brings their lips together in a bruising kiss. San kisses him back desperately, like a dying man trying to get air, hugging him so tightly he can barely breathe. His breath hitches, and then he’s crying into the kiss, tears streaming down his cheeks as he clutches Wooyoung close
  * “Why are you crying?” Wooyoung whispers over and over, but his lip trembles and he starts to cry too, the adrenaline wearing down around him until all he can remember is how _scared_ he was and how much it _hurt_ and he lets it all out then and there
  * They don’t even finish getting ready for bed, never moving from this position where their bodies are tangled and pressed so closely together you can’t tell where San ends and where Wooyoung begins, Wooyoung’s hands curled around San’s face and neck and San’s hands threaded through Wooyoung’s hair and clutching at his waist, their noses brushing together so that Wooyoung could feel every one of San’s breaths on his neck. Every breath, every heartbeat, loops together into an unspoken but steady message of _we’re here, we’re here, we’re here._



**Immediate aftermath of the assassination attempt**

  * Seonghwa is the first to visit them the next morning, almost breaking down their door in a panic. When he sees Wooyoung, an unreadable expression flickers across his face, and Wooyoung crosses the room in a heartbeat to throw himself into his arms. His arms wrap around Seonghwa’s neck and Seonghwa hugs him back impossibly tightly and says, voice thick, “Youngie, I thought-” and Wooyoung tells him he’s here. Seonghwa just buries his face in Wooyoung’s shoulder and they stand there for a long while.
  * When they finally part, Wooyoung sniffling slightly, they see San standing awkwardly by the bed. Seonghwa had always been polite but cool towards him, but he exchanges a look with San and an understanding seems to pass between them. He thanks him, albeit stiffly, for coming so quickly to Wooyoung’s aid. Wooyoung, scandalized, smacks his arm and complains that San shouldn’t get all the credit when Wooyoung was the one who’d actually killed the assassin.
  * As a result of San’s outburst, Wooyoung is no longer suppressed, though Changbin and Jisung still guard him in case he “loses control”
  * The Kali delegation (Seonghwa, Yeosang) is outraged at the attempt, and the Emperor actually apologizes to Seonghwa (as Kali’s representative) for the incident
  * Word spreads throughout the castle and beyond, from servants, guards, and courtiers who were in the halls that night
    * People who heard Wooyoung screaming for San
    * People who were with San in the meeting when the blood drained from his face and he shot to his feet and raced out of the room towards his chambers, who passed him in the hallway as he sprinted
    * People who overheard San yelling at Changbin and then at the Emperor
    * People who saw San holding Wooyoung, bloodied and injured, but who also saw him heal himself effortlessly once the suppression was lifted, who saw him walk it off like it was nothing
  * Wooyoung and San both gain unprecedented public and court sympathy due to these eyewitness accounts
    * Their popularity as a couple skyrockets, because people start to believe that they’re truly in love, because of how San rushed to Wooyoung’s side
    * Wooyoung’s popularity also skyrockets, because he gained sympathy from the attack and respect for his power and strength in the immediate aftermath
    * The Emperor has Wooyoung make a public appearance the next day to prove that he is alright, and Wooyoung plays the sympathy card so well that the Emperor is impressed (Hongjoong says that he told him Wooyoung was cunning and he agrees)



**The assassination investigation**

  * San announces that he is starting and overseeing an investigation to find and eradicate the cell responsible for the attack. He says that he has reason to believe the assassins weren’t working alone, that they were part of a bigger group whose goal is to take revenge on innocent Kalians for the war
  * The public begins to join the hunt, turning in and reporting people overheard in bars and markets to be spreading anti-Kalian sentiment
  * Seonghwa is brought on to the investigation after he demands that Kali be allowed a part in it, and is tasked with hunting down the origin of a tattoo of a pattern of black bars on the soles of the feet of the assassins
  * He tracks it down to a Milean anti-Kali group called the Sons of Jia who claimed they were taking revenge on Kali in Jia’s name, and San storms their headquarters and imprisons them
  * Their trial is very public, and public opinion is divided but mostly in favor of Wooyoung and San. Their punishment is execution
  * Maybe have San’s white lock appear from the exertion of carrying out the execution himself



**The Emperor’s death**

  * He falls ill and dies, supposedly due to natural causes
  * Despite the ruling as natural, this creates suspicion within the court



**San’s coronation (and then Wooyoung’s)**

  * San becomes the Emperor of Milea, and Wooyoung’s position and prominence therefore ramps up



**Revelation of Kali’s role in the assassination attempt, San and Wooyoung fight**

  * This revelation probably comes through Seonghwa, who was secretly spying on the Mileans for Wooyoung’s family this entire time



**Invasion Arc**

  * The final plot twist is that Kali is behind the assassination attempt, the Sons of Jia, and the emperor’s death. Over the course of the story, Seonghwa has been helping to engineer the smuggling in of the drugs and of Kali soldiers, who have resided in cells throughout Milea waiting for the invasion.
  * They invade Milea using these soldiers, whose abilities are enhanced using the same drug that’s been mentioned throughout the story.
  * Milea is almost overwhelmed in the face of this, and Wooyoung’s older brother is on the verge of killing San. Wooyoung is heartbroken, seeing his brother about to kill San, and his closest friends, Yeosang and Seonghwa, helping him.
  * Wooyoung desperately takes the drug himself, almost overdosing, to amplify his powers enough to save San. He becomes so powerful that simply by screaming for everyone to stop, he is able to take ahold of the bodies of all of the soldiers and freeze them in place. He is able to incapacitate everyone and save San, but collapses as a result.



**Resolution**

  * When Wooyoung wakes, he finds that San was able to rally Milea’s army and drive out the invasion. He’s torn between his love for San and his loyalty to his family, and isn’t sure how to feel about how things have turned out.
  * Yeosang and Seonghwa, as well as Wooyoung’s brother, haven’t been killed, but have been taken prisoner and are Suppressed at all times. Wooyoung doesn’t have much to say to his brother, but spends lots of time visiting Yeosang and Seonghwa, trying to figure out their motivations. They’re able to admit how much they care for each other, but Yeosang and Seonghwa explain that the pain Milea has caused them means they don’t regret their actions, and that they can’t just play nice with Milea. Wooyoung has to accept that they are on different paths now, and grieves the loss of them in his life.
  * In the wake of the invasion, Milea’s opinion of Wooyoung shifts. He is both revered and feared due to his role in single-handedly turning the tides in favor of Milea. Kali is left completely weaponless, having poured most of their firepower into the invasion, and succumbs to Milea’s wishes. Wooyoung feels sympathy for his hometown’s plight, and can understand how people would be upset that the one hope against the Empire has fallen.
  * San, understanding more than ever how tenuous Milea’s hold on its Empire has become, allows Wooyoung to help him become a more fair and just ruler, unlike his father. And they live happily ever after <3



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that this information makes this announcement a bit easier for you all. Again, please don't hesitate to ask any questions that you still have, and I'll make sure to answer all of them. Thank you all for your support!


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